Tapestry | Abundance | Altar Call
Poetry by Daniel Poppick
EVERYTHING FASTENED TOGETHER | THE ALTITUDE | DRAWING ROOM
CAVE OF RUBIES | HOMEWARD | STATIC
Naked April | Fear Food
THE WORD IS VINES | THE WORD IS WISHING WELL
A whale on a runway is always a mistake. | big splashing | Together person is not a bridge.
The Auction | stains of an enemy’s century | Reckoning
She forgets how to swallow . . .
Andy had the top bunk, and I was below, liquor-dazed, letting her sister teach me how to touch . . .
Radish was born of the earth, plucked from the soil by the tufts of her leafy hair . . .
Tom Petty dies of a heart attack on the day of my breast biopsy. I picture him, this rock star I loved, looking down at his chest, clutching it with his hand, and then collapsing, lying down for the last time. If I live as long as Tom Petty, I only have ten more years . . .
Like most Nevadans, I’m from somewhere else. And like many of us, that somewhere is California . . .