24 September 2005 | Vol. 5, No. 3
Neverland won't fess up, spinning its vision in a closed arcadia. The carpeted room upstairs allows in the occasional wasp as you tap the side of the controller furiously, firing on a pixelated death-star—it stings you red, extracting your third and final life, and still no admission. August fixes you up pretty with its heat, screen after screen, night after night. You come out of it wanting to talk, but are unsure where to begin—or with whom.
About the author:
Scott Glassman lives in Palmyra, NJ. His poems have appeared in Cider Press Review, CutBank, Epicenter, Unpleasant Event Schedule, and others. Additional work is forthcoming in Cranky, Sentence, The Cortland Review, and South Carolina Review. He keeps a prose poem weblog called "30 Days" and is working on his first chapbook.
For further reading:
See the complete list of work by Scott Glassman at 42opus. Browse the contents of 42opus Vol. 5, No. 3, where "Our Secret" ran on September 24, 2005. List other work with these same labels: poetry, prose poem.