View Archives by:


Bad Night, Bad

Kirsten Kaschock

Each star hangs
on a separate bolt of silk and by a different name
claims the universe. 

I have never been so much a reptile. 

A mother inside
a Matchbox
drives her son’s hand across linoleum.

Unable to sleep—she tosses
others from sleep. 

Dreams are
narcotic—and should be
remastered before a next batch

Nothing doing nothing. 

That’s what’s wrong with
3AM.  4AM has other priorities,
gambits.  Gothams. 

4AM can kid itself
it’s morning.  Though that’s
just the birds. 

Kirsten Kaschock

Read Bio

Author Discusses Poems