Poetry Come Muse, migrate from Greece and Ionia, Cross out please those immensely overpaid accounts… — Walt Whitman Lot’s Wife The just...

The Controlling Metaphor What She Wanted was my bones. As I gave them to her one at a time she put them in a bag from Saks. As long as I...

Concrete Noun Poem Under the shaded maple tree I stared out at the field of fuchsia flowers, as the sweet scent of my vanilla candle...