John Repp

Mountain down to damp emerald moss, wind-bent hemlock, fragrant duff under tent floor, fog the metronomic gusts fail to dissolve, we break out supper—mine lost to memory, Ted’s pickled herring he gulps like a seal, the reek & smacking & cross-eyed, lip-licking contemplation settling me down at the formica table cleared of supper, dishes on […]

All we can expect from children is the memory the monk has of the time he was attached. —Adam Gopnik Saturdays are not what they used to be during my personal Neolithic, Sky King & Penny dipping their wings toward the desert floor, oiled Steve Reeves in the gladiator pit thrilling my brother, Ramar of […]