Stories (140)
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Chandelier
He said he’s too scared to drink alone And that there’s no line between fiction And fact. The light here’s too dim. A new record spins. The lines defining my body were never Inside of a poem, anyway. The lines Of the poem were never so bright.
By Joe Nasta | Seattle foodie poet5 years ago in Poets
Del Cuerpo
I leapt, seabag bulging from my back. I stepped off the last concrete step on the dock. In the rolling launch, after flying to Chile and traveling eighty kilometers through her green and yellow roads, I was home. The Ocean. In the closing distance my ship bobbed in the current and wind-leaned away from her anchor in just-out-the-shipyard paint. I absorbed familiar cycles through the deck of the launch.
By Joe Nasta | Seattle foodie poet5 years ago in Wander
