Glass Poetry Press

editor@glass-poetry.com

Volume One Issue Three

Ashley Capes

rotary

he chuckles himself sick on peanuts, cigars and checkers in the park — skeletal leaves pitter-patter on rained-cement and lottery tickets jackpot in the gutter — wind-soaked; his face a dream of the city at dusk, 6 o'clock shadow overtaking his throat and hands and fingers like robots with cricket-ball joints.