400 Million Miles From the Sun

Beauty is located insidea gravitational tango, one where we become a celibate partner with Jupiter; where we are grateful just to drink from muddy waters, clean as it was first drunk by thecephalopods  400 millionmiles from the Sun. George Cassidy Payne is a poet from Rochester, NY. His work has been included in such publications as the Hazmat Review, […]

Buddha Taught

Everything is in flux:our body heat, the flowof blood circulating throughthe arteries, even the thoughts in our heads, and the soundsbouncing off objects all around-the fluctuating voice cordsand the atmospheric pressure, too. Everything changing. The musclescontracting, skin cells dying, nailsgrowing, hair follicles too. Creaturescoming and going, the air itself, andthe self itself, all moving. Possessionsdissolving: CarsMoneyClothingBooksComputersHometownsConversationsDrugsAffairs […]

At the Core

My heart is a self-published book, likea snake shedding its skin,  I have an infinite supply of words and pages toturn over. Yet my whole past andmy entire future has been recordedon a single page. 38 years of life. One exposed, solitary page.  Stored in metallic ink,each morning reachingamelioration.  George Cassidy Payne is a poet from Rochester, NY. […]

My Mood Feels

like the third glassof a New Belgium juicyhaze IPA. Ancient wisdomon a napkin. Lighting bowlsand random deposit slips onthe top of a Panasonic stereo,one that only plays FM radio and cassette tapes. Like beingtogether with my family, but not requesting the reception that has to follow, orlike a sunflower picked off atthe root, thrown into a bouquetwith grandmother’s […]

Why Poetry is Well Suited for Space Work

Why did I think she had eyes thecolor of feces and sweat dipping tainted hairs white as burning phosphorous? What is wrongwith me? Why could I not justsee brown and white?   It’s as if my mind has to reenter the atmosphere before it can join otherhumans again. Not unlike astronauts, poets speak words with Neoprene-coated nylon.Their syllables irrigating […]

I Need My Used Book Store

Three Lives, in New York. From Intelligencer I need my used bookstore. The sensuous aromas of waxy skin jackets andmahogany shelves, paperskeletons in an excavatedashram of introspection.I need what it stashes awaybehind a Tom Clancy noveland an old National Geographic.Eureka! That one book, at sometime misplaced in my mind,appearing as a lost symbol ofwilderness, casting a garland-clothed silhouette, as flannel-shirted, torn-jeaned, leather- sandalled […]