Poem: Monet on the Bridge by Mark Tulin
I imagine Monet setting up his easel on the wooden bridge that I walk on every day. It overlooks theContinue Reading
I imagine Monet setting up his easel on the wooden bridge that I walk on every day. It overlooks theContinue Reading
I learned to take my family in small doses or else they would feel like a religious cult, toxicContinue Reading
They say if you touch the petal of a flower, it heats your soul. It makes the sparrows ofContinue Reading
There was a blur in his history, a void that he needed to fill with a growing pain thatContinue Reading
That gnawing part of me feels like a separate person, an alter ego that I can’t control. He’s a friendContinue Reading
By Mark Tulin in the Asylum. I remember the voices in the asylum—the screams bouncing off the walls. Nurses droppedContinue Reading






