David Mills | The Piltdown Review

David Mills

Talking to the Bones: Talking

Talking to the Bones: Talking

“That Kalk Hook farm was uppermost?” “I promise: a sky beyond the sky will burn in this earth.”
Lloyd’s Neck/Slink

Lloyd’s Neck/Slink

Scrupulous, astute: to the City he was sent (by) and sometimes went (with) Master Henry to shoehorn deals.
A Lopsided G-d

A Lopsided G-d

Another text, he wrote; tossed it off his tongue addressing “Negroes of the State of New York.”
Whistlelo

Whistlelo

Freedom?! I live in a lawyer’s clamped attic with Minnie and Cudjoe who ain’t free.
Fourcast

Fourcast

If the weather looks bad, you should never use four-letter words.

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  • There’s No Place
    a poem by Ken Farrell
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    a poem by Bree Devones Hsieh
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    a story by Tanyo Ravicz
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    a poem by Jonathan Andrew Pérez
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    a story by Lisa W. Rosenberg
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