Wednesday, July 24, 2024


She stumbles off, slick, into the moonlight,

licking the strands of time as they come in lurching,

sweeping pulse-waves matching the click of

heels on the wet floors of fate.


A lightening slick shudder of fluttering,

systematic disbelief,

boring into a box,

set high on a shelf of self doubt and discourse,

creep up behind the crows and feel around a bit.


“Great soil here, Boss,”

cry factions of the wise,

wilting under the weary gaze,

somewhat better than a hole in the head.

Secure enough, I’d assume.

Nick Laugher
Nick Laugher
Never profiting from the pithy pitfalls or pedantic antics of the common journalist, Nick "Noose Papermen" Laugher has continuously baffled readers by demonstrating a rare understanding of the vagaries of our current cultural climate. Rumored to have been conceived and raised in the nook of a knotty pine somewhere in the Pacific Northwest, Laugher was forced to abandon his true calling (pottery) after having one night experienced a vision in which a wise and generous hawk appeared to him through the shimmering static of his television set. The apparition spoke to Laugher of an aching need for some new kind of media perspective, one that elegantly incorporated esoteric vocabulary, gratuitous alliteration and penetrating pun-manship. And so it was. And so it is. And so it always will be.

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