Kent Youngstrom holds up his first two fingers, his middle digit warped from an old basketball injury. “Two.” Two? Yep. Dos. Deux. That is precisely how many questions you can ask Kent Youngstrom before he…
Posted on July 10, 2023
time to close the skate park,they said,because graffiti art and vandalsand all that nonsense— notIN OUR TOWNthey puff,their ill-fitting suitsbursting over bellies of fried pietyas they perchup, up, upon their pedestalsand pull the woolof their…
Posted on July 8, 2023
the babies we tuck in our arms will grow old one day and will lose their button noses and plump, little toes— no one told me that one day the tender newness is no more,…
Posted on September 25, 2022
The junk drawer crashed to the floor, spilling its contents over square footage of my entire kitchen. Out of what I can only assume was spite and maliciously poor timing, the silver knob of the…
Posted on September 24, 2022
if i wasn’t an artist i’d be a dancer and if i wasn’t that i’d be an astronaut with a really thick helmet or a cowboy with a brim but if i wasn’t that i’d…
Posted on September 19, 2022