Lothlorien Poetry Journal

  Scenes from an Arthurian Childhood   A sea of bright buckets. This is where all summers wash up eventually, with their wooden lolly st...

muse i am the voice who whispers . . . when i speak the words unfold then dance in a single l...

  Murder the Sun   When white rooms free of black boys, they make a sound called white noise Not tall boys they break open, bottle-nec...