Stevie Edwards Poems

I wait. There is a charge—
the drooling pool of regret
stinks the morning into blue
flowered sheets and yes,
...

Because he fell in love with the word unbearable.
Because he loathed shooting portraits of wrinkled
baby heads. Because of drinking
bad Michigan wine in his parents' basement,
...

Three men waved the Sunfire over
to the last neon-lit shoulder
before city road sped away into highway
and suburbs. I wish I was that baby
...