by Lunchbox Editor | Jan 23, 2026
The shining storming stagger of this pestilential block is begging to be free from the gyre, like the hawk. With mouths agape and eyes well draped, the crows begin to move, flinging from their heaving tower, claws scrabbling at the grooves polished metal gleaming...
by Lunchbox Editor | Jan 23, 2026
I can almost recall as I lay, blacked-out on the pavement outside an unfamiliar, college-town chapel, the outline of my bedroom ceiling from my twin sized bed on Sunday Mornings. My sister lay not four feet away, strawberry-blonde curls strewn on the pillow, hand limp...
by Lunchbox Editor | Jan 23, 2026
What flowers will I bear Once the machinations of the moon loosen hues from me. Darkness from when you wake up and until the afternoon, when many of us most need light. Nothing to hope for but the passage of time — adrift between movements and sways, harsh and...
by Lunchbox Editor | Jan 23, 2026
Poetry blooms out of my mistakes. While crickets disrupt the night – insomnia patients hit triple the rates. Two-thousand-twenty-five years in and still we cannot fly by the means of nature. Perhaps, my use of the word still exposes my ignorance; or merely my...
by Lunchbox Editor | Jan 23, 2026
Are you optimistic today About the changing world of tomorrow When this all ends Or maybe starts again Will you raise your hand To build the dream we’ve forgotten Or will your optimism run dry Like the rivers and lakes Which once you drank from And to which you now...
