e-revista EgoPHobia
by Douglas Young At 10 o’clock on a warm August morning, an old but immaculate big blue Buick slowly pulled up and parked by the front gate of the largest section in Serenity Springs Cemetery, Azalea Falls’ oldest, biggest burial ground. Heavy-set, eighty-two-year-old Averilla Finney and her almost as heavy-set, eighty-year-old sister, Zabel, slowly emerged […]
Ode to Cider This cider was once an apple – go figure.
Ghost I Am (V2) Here is a private hut staring at me,
Execration Text (c. 2350 BCE) May your mother’s nakedness be familiar to strangers throughout neighboring hamlets;
Making Muffins I am making muffins, substituting some of the ingredients
by Douglas Young When Marcellus Stovall got to a good stopping place, he sighed, saw it was already well after 5, and decided it was time to leave the university library. The firm did not pay him overtime and the place would close soon anyway since it was Friday. So he got up from […]
poems about nothing bits of flesh scattered all over a window
[fragment] by Mike Amnasan Now that I’m seventy-three I can tell you about the life of a failed writer. This is something no one is likely to have read or will read. A successful writer would not be able to write this. His experience would be very different. Repeated rejection has taken a toll on my […]
Yes, Mother, you are right You were right, Mother, when you said that whatever may come, we can only tell each other what there is to be told
Back to the Dream I wonder if Kent State, If Woodstock, if Steinman’s bra-burning revolution ever happened.