 Poetry Jeff Weddle Love in Vain
I wish I didn’t know you were dead. These things escape notice when we are lucky. Better to remember an awkward embrace, or a dark motel room in Georgia, whispered promises, an inexpensive lunch of fish and pickles, a certain October day, the two of us beer drunk, laughing, or your face, briefly serious, a cigarette held carelessly between two fingers. I wish I could knock on some door and you would answer and be glad to see me, that I could walk through that door and say you are beautiful, to follow like your shadow to where you are.
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 Thoughts Over Coffee, Looking Out My Window. by Jarad Johnson I don’t particularly enjoy living in an apartment.
I mean, it’s fine I guess, but I’d much rather be in a house with a large garden (If any attractive rich men with estates are available, call me - it will be best if you travel and I can be in the house alone from 50-90% of the time.)  A Modern Hobo Story by Charles Whaley III by Roy Peak If you've ever been sitting in your car at a railroad crossing, waiting for a train to pass by, and wondered just what would it be like to hop that train and travel across the country, busking for money, living off the kindness of strangers at truck stops and convenient marts, sleeping in the wide open, then Ohioan Charles Whaley, also sometimes known as Captain Chucke, has a book just for you.
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