Peter Bushyeager

It’s November and there’s a steady stream without stagnation or scum as glitter resurfaces in the trash mound political races raise fear and candidates come clean about dark money cast into shady corners. Po...

Peter Bushyeager

The poet doesn't know shit. He stands by the telephone which will ring in one second the dish will break at the moment of regret and this is boring but there's movement at the edges. It's a clean sunrise, birds are...

Peter Bushyeager

Poet Story The steel taps on Mayakovsky’s size 13 boots scraped the smear off his surface when he wrote while striding the Rockaway boardwalk each metallic rap on the planks a refugee thought gathered so he cou...