Just got my contributor's copy of Slant, a journal out of the University of Central Arkansas, named for the phrase from Emily Dickenson, "Tell the truth, but tell it slant."
My poem, Self Service, grew out of a recurring dream of mine, probably a remnant of the panic I used to feel when my mother would take me to lunch at Clifton's Cafeteria in downtown LA and I couldn't decide what to take until it was too late, I'd already passed it.
It's a print journal, so I can't link to the poem. Sorry.
My poem, Self Service, grew out of a recurring dream of mine, probably a remnant of the panic I used to feel when my mother would take me to lunch at Clifton's Cafeteria in downtown LA and I couldn't decide what to take until it was too late, I'd already passed it.
It's a print journal, so I can't link to the poem. Sorry.