Fall 2017 / Featured / Poetry 2017 / Uncategorized / Volume 48

Like a Clyfford Still Painting–William Doreski

Tattered like a Clyfford Still painting, my birthday unfolds on a snowdrift and settles there. I could use a glass of wine the color of starlight, but the murmur of competing voices keeps me sober. Maybe later in front of the TV I’ll cough up the stone in my throat. Maybe when I’m old and … Continue reading