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Who’s Who Of Local Space Travelers

ARK-BRUTE the LARVA
zone-chief No. 1, a human potentate related to the present author, a duck-shirted Uranian Rememberer, PULVERO, Overseer of Earth’s eastern seaboard.

One American Writer: Journeyman Into Silence

Certainly it’s difficult to survive as a writer in America, but it may be more difficult to sustain oneself once having been published than it was in one’s first, frustrated, unpublished silence.

The Deposed King

I live now like a deposed king, which is to say, with a slight air of once-proud nobility I cling to as I cling to the rags and tatters of my existence because it’s all I’ve got left.

Carrboro: Reflections Of A Small Town

So here I stay, along with the others who shamefacedly admit that yes, they too graduated from the university years ago and no, they cannot think of a better Southern spot in which to live and perhaps grow old.

Sex Is Not Strawberry Jam

My thumb was out and Interstate 86 out of Providence, Rhode Island was getting hot. Me and my St. Bernard, Roger, were thumbing across America. It had been a messy morning.

While We Are Singing

Another Appetite

There’s a cool, shady corner in the kitchen. That’s where I raise a simple crop that’s not dependent on sparse rain clouds or my depleted compost pile. Sprouts: lentils and alfalfa are best. Mung beans are pretty good, soy beans, too.

Poetry: From The Factory

Poetry, like all the arts, has taken a turn toward the diffuse since World War 2. By diffuse, I mean the opposite of the exactness that went into the work of the masters, the pointedness of a strong sensibility.

She Would Have Been A Taxi Dancer, But He Couldn’t Hail A Cab

Book Review

Manning demonstrates a rather considerable talent for manipulating vocabulary and for wringing every ounce of nuance possible from a word or phrase.

Br(e)ak(e)s