by Jensen Beach | Feb 5, 2020 | Poetry
The Best Meal at the Mid-City Mart is the Broast Chicken. Skin burnt, meat bland, the Mid-City Mart has the worst broasted chicken you’ve ever tasted. Your tongue feels like a cactus after, your bowls—like agent orange. So on the way there, after...
by Jensen Beach | Feb 4, 2020 | Poetry
Punctuating our night skies is the light from years ago. past is present and present is past. Are we the echoes of God or the universe? Are we projected spirits in the bodies of woman and man and wonder? In the warmth of breath, whisper against cheek Souls as cosmic...
by Jensen Beach | Dec 26, 2019 | Poetry
Here Be Witches after Sylvia Plath Here be witches is what I think when I think of my fam the map of my mother and my aunt not bad witches not scary or hopeless hags as they feel being the...
by Jensen Beach | Dec 25, 2019 | Fiction
In every cry of every Man, In every Infants cry of fear, In every voice: in every ban, The mind-forg’d manacles I hear —William Blake, London Saturday morning Gayle found me outside. I threw a ball. The dog brought the ball back. I threw a ball. The dog brought...
by Jensen Beach | Dec 12, 2019 | Poetry
We lost our seaside picnic when clouds found us, then showers, so we scrambled up the sandwiches, half-empty glasses, our itchy blue blanket. We finish lunch in the Honda, the radio playing that Edith Piaf song still convincing us, and herself, that her baby just...
