burning
houses my
old man
sd licking
a drop
of whiskey
off the
back of
his hand
you can’t
beat them
for drama
the way
flaming
timbers fall
across a
sofa or a
kitchen
sink clouds
of sparks
shooting
out the door
some nights
i sleep in
fire i always
walk in
smoke
Filed under: Todd Moore
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burning
houses my
old man
sd licking
a drop
of whiskey
off the
back of
his hand
you can’t
beat them
for drama
the way
flaming
timbers fall
across a
sofa or a
kitchen
sink clouds
of sparks
shooting
out the door
some nights
i sleep in
fire i always
walk in
smoke
Filed under: poems by todd moore
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Some days I am more haunted than others.
Some days my face paints all the mirrors so black the glass screams in fear of its blindness. Some days my face gets into car windshields and turns them a so viciously dark they want to shatter outward into skin. Some days my shadow plans all the [...]
Filed under: Todd Moore
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Some days I am more haunted than others.
Some days my face paints all the mirrors so black the glass screams in fear of its blindness. Some days my face gets into car windshields and turns them a so viciously dark they want to shatter outward into skin. Some days my shadow plans all the [...]
Filed under: essays by todd moore
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Friedrich Nietzsche | Drawing by Hans Olde
when i think of outlaw i think of a change in consciousness. a new level of consciousness. the first outlaws, to me, were those who initiated a change in thinking, a change in living, a change in viewpoint. turning the world upside down. thinking in [...]
Filed under: Tony Moffeit
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Right
in the middle of a bank robbery and probably staged for effect, Dillinger turned to Charles Makley and said, What is it about machine guns that gets the blood going. Makley gave the bank president a look, winked, and replied, It’s because they kill people. Dillinger glanced over at the teller who was nervously [...]
Filed under: Todd Moore
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Right
in the middle of a bank robbery and probably staged for effect, Dillinger turned to Charles Makley and said, What is it about machine guns that gets the blood going. Makley gave the bank president a look, winked, and replied, It’s because they kill people. Dillinger glanced over at the teller who was nervously [...]
Filed under: essays by todd moore
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Todd Moore | Photo: Brian Morrisey | manipulated by Monsieur K.
There is nothing more unnerving, nothing more existential, nothing more exhilarating and depressing than reading poetry to a roomful of strangers. I think I can safely say that after having given poetry readings in almost every conceivable situation for nearly forty years. And, the reason I can make such a claim is that no two readings are ever the same. Every reading is different and differs to the extent according to the locale and the room in which it is given.
Filed under: Todd Moore
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Todd Moore | Photo: Brian Morrisey | manipulated by Monsieur K.
There is nothing more unnerving, nothing more existential, nothing more exhilarating and depressing than reading poetry to a roomful of strangers. I think I can safely say that after having given poetry readings in almost every conceivable situation for nearly forty years. And, the reason I can make such a claim is that no two readings are ever the same. Every reading is different and differs to the extent according to the locale and the room in which it is given.
Filed under: essays by todd moore
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…after an original illustration by Jean-Claude Claeys
Filed under: Todd Moore
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