“The masks!” I shouted; “Put on your mask!” I looked up and was blinded by the light.Read More
Sharp small lights, wistful
in their solitudes, kiss
at the edges of uncombed
woodlots far back from
this unlit road
Three miles from the High Level Bridge
sun shimmered against the four lanes as if
hundreds of tiny glass beads found
themselves dumped out on Main Street.
Carla Warren and Andrew Nunn were lovers. Carla was first violin and concert master for the Mount Felicia orchestra. Her husband was a mediocre cellist, named Ned Warren.Read More
At the odd moment, wind calls
through an open field or
from around the corner of
some bare-boned house
Dr. John Moran responded to Detective Allan Pinkerton’s query about who might have wished to kill Edgar Allan Poe. Moran had been the attending physician during Poe’s last hours. A Scottish immigrant, Pinkerton had migrated to America in 1842, seven years prior to Poe’s demise. He’d been a fan of Poe’s work, especially the stories featuring French detective August Dupin.Read More
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