“In summer, the song sings itself.”
William Carlos Williams

Scapegoat’s Summer Issue is here at last. I apologize for the delay. Working on an MFA while hosting salons has been phenomenal. It has kept me busy, though. This coming fall many more projects are in the works, all to do with poetry and getting others involved; as the projects progress, I’ll keep you informed. Upstairs at Erika’s is busier than ever, and I’ve added on Salon Dinners with Poets, which has been a great way for people to engage with poets on a more intimate level. I am delighted with the writers who have contributed to this issue. In another quote by
Williams;

“It is summer, it is the solstice
the crowd is
cheering, the crowd is laughing
in detail
permanently, seriously
without thought.”

This is what summer is––
a time of joy, of beauty, flowers blooming
gardens bursting, the technicolor’s of sanguine
Saturday’s, teal tomorrow’s, and yesterday’s aureate’s.

Fall is near, colors disappear, becoming muted with melancholy
and despair. Aubergine, mossy green, bittersweet apricot––
these are the colors of the season after summer; before the dormant
frost of winters comes.