May 25-31, 2015: Tiffany McDaniel and Kurt Nimmo

Tiffany McDaniel and Kurt Nimmo

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Tiffany McDaniel
authortiffanymcdaniel@yahoo.com

Bio (auto)

Tiffany McDaniel is an Ohio native. Tiffany’s first novel, The Summer That Melted Everything, will be published in Summer 2016 by St Martins Press (USA), Scribe (UK & Commonwealth), Signatuur (Dutch translation). Visit Tiffany on the web here: www.petersfraserdunlop.com/authors/tiffany-mcdaniel

The following work is Copyright © 2015, and owned by Tiffany McDaniel and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Be More Than This Cold Night

His rib bone
and mine
lay in the
cradle
doing nothing
but being
bone.
The stars
slip and fight like
dogs
in the night
sky.



Kurt Nimmo
kanimmo@gmail.com

Bio (auto)

Kurt Nimmo was born in Detroit, Michigan in 1952. In the late ’70s, he co-edited the successful literary magazine, The Smudge. In the ’80s, he edited Planet Detroit. Kurt has been nominated for several Pushcart Prizes for fiction, and two of his books were selected as "modern classics" by the Wormwood Review. He lives in Smithville, Texas with his wife and two cats. Visit Kurt on the web here: www.busteddharma.com/poetry-fiction-by-kurt-nimmo

The following work is Copyright © 2015, and owned by Kurt Nimmo and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

a small piece of nowhere

sitting in
a coffee shop in La Grange
Texas, a small piece of nowhere.

in walks a couple
he wears cowboy boots and she
has that trucker look down
with wallet chain and a world of tattoos
fighting for space on every inch
of blonde pale skin.
he shows astounding empty blue eyes
wide circles of sky
and a green skull printed
on a black t-shirt.

the fashion this year is death.

they sit
and wait for something to happen
and it is bound to sooner or later as
the voice of Eta James
comes out of the walls.

this is
the new generation
one or two after mine.

I do not pretend to understand or condone.
I surrender against the relentless tide of time.

as they wait
for coffee or those dark walnut brownies
outside the police
circle around the square in tight circles
black and silver birds of prey
in air-conditioned cages.

they
watch all of us here
crowded on a small piece of nowhere
waiting for the sun
to die

again.


drug addict

have to see
a doctor next week
in that piece of nowhere
La Grange.

have to beg
for prescriptions.
they think I am
or will become a drug addict
when I ask
for pain killers to kill the pain
of arthritis that gets worse
by the week.

the doctors
scribble on pads
and then clerks enter this
important scribble
into a computer
and the government knows

I am a drug addict
although
I am not a drug addict.

they make you sit
naked beneath a thin cloth gown
waiting on the
exam table
for thirty or forty minutes.

it is all a merry-go-round
that ends in the grave.

I should not complain.
my grandfather did not complain.
cancer ate him away
inch by inch for six months
and he never complained
or said a thing.

before he died
he told us
to be good and obey our parents.

this
was something
I found
difficult to do

especially
when my father
outraged
over some small misdeed
and stinking of
whiskey
and perspiration
yelled
in my face.