A manifesto arrived last night. In daylight I wrote it down. At noon I’ll read it to the village. Meanwhile a black-and-white cat dumped by heartless morons squats on the front stoop demanding equal time. The neighbor’s children squall in rhythm with Coltrane on the radio. Page after page, the manifesto overlaps me, determined as … More A Manifesto Arrived by William Doreski

Finding a good violin at a local yard sale inflames me with visions of Paganini torturing his instrument with a grace material objects shouldn’t express. The patina’s so ripe I want to stroke it on my deathbed. A cardboard box to deposit the five-dollar price. I leave four ones and four quarters and clutch the … More A Good Violin by William Doreski

Today’s rain carries the stink of burning horn, bone, and hoof a thousand miles from the West where slaughterhouse debris has localized. Must I know how carnivorous a nation we are? I breathe the toxic reek and taste a half raw steak. The treetops resemble rib cages heaving last breaths. Flowers excited by the rain … More Horn, Bone and Hoof by William Doreski

The clock that leapt from the wall to smash face-down on scuffed gray tile when my seventh-grade teacher slammed the door has always haunted me. Pity warped hands waving at time lapsed forever. Grieve for the glass crown shattered into nasty little shards we crunched underfoot with our Keds. Our teacher, Mary Susan Davis, kept … More Temps Perdu by William Doreski