A poem The night lays like a blanket over the skin of the earth where the blue is something you wish you could taste. This is what it was like to teen in the suburbs — the shades of that sky resonated for those four summers where the foundations of the self…

A Poem — Why ask the question? Why pursue it at all? I walk from the house, down a path of concrete slabs. the small bodies of bees flit like cupids about my head. I run now across the spine of the world. I run my fingers across the spine of the republic. …

A Poem

A Poem

Chat GPT ft. Me — After a long conversation with Chat GPT, who I have named “Young Giblets” — And after an extensive argument about the importance of “self care” that it included in its routine to become a great writer. I had the idea to have it cross evaluate the rhythm of great writers. …

A Poem The eyes speak first and speak the loudest. again and again we all wake, go out and face the day. They died at 27. What’s the difference? Early death, or the death of an oil magnate at 92? What is the difference? Clinging, holding, clutching. The eyes speak…

A Poem by Douglas Caraballo

A Poem by Dougie Caraballo

A Poem Rolling gently your head lulls back and forth. The earth turns again and again. The night can strike at any moment despite the tracking of the hours all is well all is good. You proceed in spite of yourself if only to prove to some reef of clouds that…