“Where were you when nothing / was un-imaginable?” writes Sean Cho A. in Cider Press Review, Vol. 23, Issue 4. Our October issue features
The lost poems are riding lost trains north, carried on rails nailed to cross ties cut from disappeared chestnut forests—tracks torn-up long ago. They
(a Golden Shovel after Lana Del Ray) Listen. The only way to swim is to kiss. / There is no moving through, only towards.
All your pill bottles congregate, a small choir silent as rain. They were not the bridge we hoped. We never wanted eternity. Just another