many hats, not all at the same time. No Bartholomew was he. Every day a new one, sometimes two. His ears may ache, and his hair hurt, but the pattern continues. Always his head is covered. Even while asleep.

with all the people I’ll never be: local legend, glad-hander, open armer, yah boy The virtuoso, soft heart, mystery  Magnet, statue, prairie fire Coyote, salmon, creek, midnight wish   An apophatic prayer, Whispered in Times Square Start walking, In

The whole drive back, we say nothing. The dead, brown grasslands roll by, bleakly faded by the southern sun.   Alan, out of drugs, dry-mouthed, and frowning, drowns in the glare of the bleached white road. Jack, holding a

I met a lamppost gargoyle wrought-iron bristles wreathed his chin. He was rusted, tarnished, and riddled with pockmarked bronze and gold skin.   I asked, “What warms the lamppost man?” And through grit-laced lungs he creaked to me,  

even though unsure of the reality of the world the starting point of all his philosophy was that he certainly possessed the most exquisite neckties in the universe so much so that he always slept with a tie on

(after Craig Finn) “A Bathtub in the Kitchen” is not a song to listen to when you’re worried you forgot to grow up, when your meds are wrong— not unless you want to wallow and have got no place

Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken – John Keats   These rainbow worlds of swirling nebulae arrest you as you thumb past smug celebrities, vacation shots and selfies

Trump is bad am I right?   Mike Esposito is a senior at CCSU majoring in English and minoring in Cinema Studies.    

to his fellow arachnids: He was, he said, the future. The one. The only. The liquid silk yardstick by which all spinners will be measured. A true blue-blood, he travels the earth with no more than four legs bound