Journalism In Verse

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36 Ghosts

in Breaking by

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…

Every Breath in Oakland

in Breaking by

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…

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