Gregory Crosby (USA)


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Gregory Crosby es autor de la plaquette Spooky Action at a Distance(2014, The Operating System); sus poemas han aparecido en numerosas revistas literarias como Court Green, Epiphany, Copper Nickel, Leveler, Sink Review, Ping Pong, & Rattle. En 2002, como consultor en poesía para la ciudad de Las Vegas, colaboró en la creación del puente de los poetas en Lewis Avenue como parte de un proyecto en el centro de la ciudad. Su poema de dedicación al proyecto “The Long Shot” fue fundido en bronce e instalado en el parque. En 2008 fue incluido en la antología Literary Nevada: Writings from the Silver State (University of Nevada Press). Es coeditor de la revista virtual de poesía Lyre Lyre y en la actualidad enseña escritura creativa en Lehman College, City University of New York.

A MIRACULOUS COCOON OF PIANOS

Every problem looks like a hammer when you’re a key. There must be more to this than merely crawling head first from the wreck, through the soft cacophony of blanket forts to the rebarbative rebar of buildings, collapsed. One day the world comes crashing down around your ears. Take note. An accordion wheezes while a lung makes love to a broken rib. There must be more to all this than “Chopsticks.” Perhaps it’s just not our forte, a big bang followed by that little puff of “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes.” Music is a The transaction is secure on the internet and avail the best ED drug cialis online http://secretworldchronicle.com/podcast/book-two-the-hunt/ at their doorstep. Even if men appetite it, they’re women viagra australia not attainable for it the above way. As a result, Kamagra Polo causes more and more blood to flow generic viagra from usa http://secretworldchronicle.com/tag/shen-xue/ to the penile area resulting in erection and sustaining it till completion of sexual intercourse. It strikes the external along secretworldchronicle.com levitra cost low with internal wellness of your partner consequently causing higher quantity of divorce applications. house with no roof, standing over the dream of a sinkhole, where only the windows, the view, matters. Did I say music? You know what I really meant: the chrysalis called tempo, metronome in the dark. Whenever you’re near, I hear a sympathy, a cry from the very heart of noise. A voice said, Music saved my life, & the voice was neither wrong nor right. Hands claw the debris: finger exercises. When the world lifts off your chest like a bully bored at last, that’s the silence of the recital hall, the hands hovering, above it all, for a moment, in the astonished light.

TAPFNY – The Americas Poetry Festival of New York

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