Poetry
Cold Lights
Outside my window there is steam
and there are lights in a skyscraper
where people sit at their desks
and the lights let them work.
Outside my window there is steam
and there are lights in a skyscraper
where people sit at their desks
and the lights let them work.
An independent literary magazine for contemporary fiction, thought, and opinion about popular culture, society, and everything on the periphery.
