by Gary David Grossman Attraction thrives on the unique — individual, object, or location — even small and inanimate objects like my vintage fountain pens — first purchase 1976, a late Thirties, Parker Parkette, black celluloid that warmed in the hand, gold-plated fittings and barrel engraved “Dr. Schwartz” — eternally…

The couch cools my thighs for the first time in four months given that fucking Summer has left the building, and no I don’t mean my ex, who liked to “stuff the taco” on this anti-vegan, 8 foot, cowhide-covered, living-room filler — it’s true my heart raced to her little…

In politics, it ain’t the crime, it’s the cover-up — but in digestive medicine, it ain’t the procedure, it’s the prep — Go-Lyte, sarcasm? — because nothing about this is lyte, and somewhere there’s a research pharmacist meaner than a hung-over preacher on Monday morning. It’s three o’clock on a…

So I asked the sky, who responded in a nettlesome voice, “that’s Sky, capital S”, “what makes you special, I mean all those photos, paintings, poems and descriptive phrases?” and they replied “first of all, everyone’s got it backwards, it’s not Earth that holds us in place — we’re the…

Clicking on the Heart Fifteen years on Facebook — my ropes well worked and burnished — yet I find myself clicking the heart emoji all day long — it’s not love welling up for every cat post, yoga selfie, or pumpkin pie, redolent with clove and allspice, but in a life of masking and quarantine, the thumbs up…

1. My heart a pendulum — crow love to crow hate — and back again — these large, dark Einsteins — bulling everyone from Carolina Chickadees to Red-Bellied Woodpeckers — despots of my yard — they guard and hoard the suet block, like a hockey goalie fronting the net. 2…

(This is a graphical poem but I couldn’t figure out how to make it work with text, the actual poem is in the photo.) Ears truly open / you hear the Earth’s voice. A baritone / geologic depth and range. …