A Poem by Ben Nardolilli

There is an entrance, cleared
And ready for you
To make an appearance
And be framed

My feet lay trenches
And grooves in the carpet,
It is red like old blood

There will be no peace
Until you arrive,
And so I make war
With the innocent ground.


A Poem by Doug Draime

I’ve watched the storm
clouds come slowly,
the rain begin to fall. The dog
curls up near my feet and Carol walks
by flossing and brushing her teeth, talking
to him and as she finishes and begins
to wash the dishes,
the thunder cracks
like a cat-o’-nine-tails and lightning
is illuminating the mountains surrounding us.