Poem: BREAKER BOY

by Michael Burns The newsies and the match girls, and the breakerboys in back. They toiled away their little lives to keep their mamma's happy. Six days a week they left their youth inside the warmth you purchased, and easy reads from newsie feeds that salted your accounts...

POEM: YELLOW FISH

I was painting ten paintings the other day. In the music studio and lost an idea among a pile of dead poems sitting on a shelf, it was a good idea! It was something about the sound a bird makes after a terrible storm; for the world is stilled and made over completely in that single solitary second. This is not the only world…by far...

Poem: Poets Hospital

There's a hospital for poets... End of the road for a broken dreamer, and an artist with tarnish on his soul. There's no line up there, you just walk right in and get into a bed. Dead dreamers are wheeled by on gurneys on their way to reincarnations. The place is filled with unspoken words, and half filled remnants of...those angry hearts Ghosts walk the halls of the unpublished, asking you for a word...ah, "Please will you listen." The great Dylan Thomas died here and the place reeks now of a writing shed. Corso walks by holding an antiquated toaster and speaks to him in tongues about the substance of a symbol "I was born here and I will die here." He exclaims in the accent of an Italian Hamlet, on passing...