Broken Dreams: A Lexicographer Picks Up the Pieces by Robert Witmer

The judgment of death lowered upon all at the beginning of Genesis contains essentially everything that can be said about power. —Elias Canetti What is beautiful for Nature herself is the all-encompassing necessity of now. Life. Spring. Leaves. Move. Without the wind. Milkweed on ICE. The cream of the crop. Curdled. Art walks a tightrope between nature and eternity. The point is not to make … Continue reading Broken Dreams: A Lexicographer Picks Up the Pieces by Robert Witmer

Genna RivieccioJuly 26, 2026Leave a comment

Prose Poetry

Dada by Robert Witmer

To undress the corporate swindle and have him ride a stumbling donkey over palm branches strewn about in a hurricane such that the multitude might see what difference makes. Humbly to fit a natural self. To make real language possible again. Absolute reality is a calendar carved in snow, ticking like a time bomb. Dew on a mossy grave. Spring’s stultification of digital progress. Virga. … Continue reading Dada by Robert Witmer

Genna RivieccioJuly 23, 20261 Comment

Prose Poetry

Metaphysics by Robert Witmer

I know I am going to regret this but I want to say something about death. Not death in general, but my own death. That event of utmost uncertainty. The luck that got me here presumably peters out, drops the ball, as it were, folds, takes one for the team and determines, by way of virtually indisputable statistical evidence, to give up the ghost. Yeah. … Continue reading Metaphysics by Robert Witmer

Genna RivieccioFebruary 6, 2026Leave a comment

Prose Poetry

Il Ritorno di Ringo by Robert Witmer

I keep trying to explain it to Ringo. My dog, a golden retriever. I didn’t mean to leave it behind. Not at first anyway. Ringo’s willing to fetch whatever it is, but I keep trying to explain. We just can’t go there. Private property. The law. The right to bear arms. What’s left be damned. The River Styx in your craw, my pet peeve. The … Continue reading Il Ritorno di Ringo by Robert Witmer

Genna RivieccioFebruary 4, 2026Leave a comment

Poetry

Beloved, My Belated, Beloved by Robert Witmer

I figured it out. Death is a calibrated average of life’s boredoms. Nothing much changes, and it goes on forever. What of heaven and hell? One day, out of the blue, an angel turns up with a message: They have seen the light. Your name is now a song. Continue reading Beloved, My Belated, Beloved by Robert Witmer

Genna RivieccioJuly 6, 2025Leave a comment