PoetryOpen Mic, Tuesday
A narrative poem from the weekly republic of folding chairs, dying phone batteries, and five-minute limits.
LINES THAT SURVIVED
Poetry
Poems with a pulse, a bruise, an argument, or some other reason to exist.
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PRESS THE DEPARTMENT BUTTON
A tiny bell rang in an office nobody can locate.
Poetry
PoetryAfter the Dishwasher Finishes
A short poem about domestic order, machinery, and the part of the night that does not go back in the cupboard.
PoemsPoem for the Sock That Came Back Alone
A domestic elegy in one laundry cycle.
PoetryAfter the Smoke Detector Stops Chirping
A poem about silence arriving twenty seconds too late.
PoetryNight Bus With No Destination
A late bus, a sleeping city, and a driver who keeps passing the stop.
PoemsElegy for a Password I Can No Longer Remember
Eight characters, one capital letter, and the end of an era.
PoemsPoem for the Person Who Keeps Reheating the Same Coffee
A small poem for the mug that has seen too much.
PoetryPoem Found in a Laundromat Dryer
A small poem about lint, quarters, and the private weather of lost things.
PoetryA City That Chews Its Own Tail
A poem about late buses, neon omissions, and the appetite of cities.
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