Poem: Playing for Food by Mark Tulin
Sometimes I sit at the community piano downtown that’s set up in the middle of a busy sidewalk, andContinue Reading
Sometimes I sit at the community piano downtown that’s set up in the middle of a busy sidewalk, andContinue Reading
Front and back covers to my poetry chapbook.
I teeter in one foggy moment. The waves come on either side. I tell myself to widen my stance,Continue Reading
He was senile as my Aunt called it, didn’t know my name or who was president. Yet, he battledContinue Reading
I see brick row houses lined up evenly on a street, squished together, one street after another. A seaContinue Reading
I am a pushover. I let people call themselves my friends. Give clowns and vagabonds permission to insult me, stompContinue Reading






