Author Archives: Evan Puschak

In Cladich on a domed isle, Near no settlement at all, A great tower points the moon, Brought whole from west a mile, From the cool volcanic wall, Obsidian-hewn. What can it wish but for the war That raves and … Continue reading →

Now the morning come And fair-eyed imp awake; Hand that was numb And throat that ached, Quick, take up a pen, Take up the early song, Write of now and then, Recite again the long Lyric, the monolithic soul: Aware … Continue reading →

By the guidance of a True Self, The true selves aim to act: Blame the covetous taunting Of a timeless inborn elf, Whose will they would enact, But for wanting.

Who will seek the mythic now, As skeptics now accept the shade Of almond trees where Nana sat, And starting from the golden bough, Who will stray where Yeats had strayed, And who will call his pale moon cat? And … Continue reading →

Who dreamed that love was a mutual thing? To these green eyes, with all confidence, All, as in the tree’s shade-giving sense, A wasp could not deliver its sting, Nor the field its fence. The lonely world is pacing by: … Continue reading →

She said she was dreaming of a coconut grove. “A coconut grove?” I said. “Where?” On some island somewhere, she said. “Don’t you ever think of traveling, John?” I told her it was mean to say that. She chuffed. The … Continue reading →

By the churning failing terraform, residents of New Lake Fens walk the chert rock paths beside a lime-coloured light. Like fire the terraform flickers against their faces and heavy clothes, their feet slap the flint. The terraform eats more than … Continue reading →

The dark look on the lighted with salted eyes, hungry. The river recedes and Cowboy Pizza serves scones on the sidewalk under a canted tree. Bar 169 works off a small generator and can offer a small amount of warm … Continue reading →

Robust, yet fragile. Systems sturdy, prepared, until some small porcelain figurine from the first house floats up out of a box in the basement. She was playing chess and listening to Michael Jackson. The figurine Mary on the mantle because … Continue reading →

Sunlight burns across apartment buildings & is scattered by fire escapes. It’s quite a cloudy day; the patterns on the walls alternate sharp and diffuse. Blue sky, when it moves overhead, feels like a surprise. And dead birch-wood trees, barkless, … Continue reading →