A poet shares his family’s story after headstones were vandalized at a Jewish cemetery.
Elizabeth Warren, even your enemies have to acknowledge your strength.
East of the Bay, artists dare to claim the Promised Land.
But somehow you keep on going
Creating such illegal sacred spaces
While we worry about the inevitable
Light poured through the grille from a confessional, through interior windows, stained glass, over pews, banquettes, overstuffed chairs, ottomans, leatherette couch, Naugahyde recliner, made it all glow. Tiffany lamps shone. Strings of golden lights, votive candles, parasols and pagodas, tassels and tapestries, Persian rugs, batik, inlay, mosaic, macramé. Crazy brilliant children played 52 pianos, guitars…
Breath escapes our mouths like music because every breath exhaled in Oakland is a funeral song. Air this week is cruel and disproportionate in its allotment. Like everything else young artists need in this city to carry on breathing it is scarce, impure and invisible. And now among us some breathe none at all. I…
A poet mourns friends lost in the Ghost Ship fire, “taken by a mere element”.
Strap yourself to a
careening piece of metal
where inside there is a dull sense of complacency but
outside the world peels away
and when you catch your face in the
mirror you’re surprised to
see you’re scowling.
After Donald Trump cavalierly bragged about sexually assaulting women (as exposed in a behind-the-scenes video), he played a role on Days Of Our Lives.
Who haunts the ghost? Who walks the dog? Who mocks the turtle? Who listens to a log? Live by the penis, etc. Shivering in Utopia. Slow smoking October sky. Pave the road with lyres. Orpheus sleeping with one eye weeping. Who would trap a fowl? A special suckerfice. Anyway, I love you.…