i Getting to her was like shoplifting a pack of cigarettes: First there’s the thrill, the secret and the lie, and then, perhaps, a chill. ii As if Morse would have telegraphed his thoughts, imagining that the more… Read More ›
Original poetry by Steven M. Critelli
for Bill Knott Bill and I are minding the store when a French tourist takes his camera out and begins filming us. “You call it a store, but you just have pictures and take orders. You drop ship dreams. Action”… Read More ›
What infections grew from his phantom limb? A pious ulcer leaching sanctimonious puss. The fulsome hunger of retracted bliss. His was an open wound — A wound that always seems to heal, but never does.
In this impressionistic translation of Stephen Mallarmé’s sonnet, “Le chevelure vol d’une flame à l’extrême,” I have attempted to disclose the imaginative life of the poem. The poem is an allegory for the creative process and the poem itself, described… Read More ›
Dean Rader selected my poem, “Surf’s Up On Wall Street” for inclusion in the anthology, 99 Poems for the 99 Percent, which is now being sold at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Small Press Distribution and other booksellers.