Poetry - Slash Magazine

Written By: John Grey Seven crows on a tree branch, seven monks with keen eyes and bowed heads, seven undertakers in wind-blown black coats.

Written By: John Grey The woman in the room blurts out how much she misses me. But the man has nothing to say. He barely knows who I am.

Written By: John Grey Even this far north, I would rather the winds came from even farther north.

Written By: Paul Tristram I cannot describe the ‘Un-Bear-Able’ PANIC… it’s a Mountain

Written By: Johnny Cate

Written By: Arden Falker Sleepwalking toward an old oak door in slippers I forgot that I put on.