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Alex Stolis


Alex Stolis lives in Minneapolis and has had poems published in numerous journals. Publications include: Without Dorothy There is No Going Home from ELJ Publications, And Justice for All, (on Amazon, this collection is based on the last words of Texas Death Row inmates) and Cabal of Angels available from Red Bird Chapbooks (and see microchap below for sampling of poems). 

Other releases include an e-chapbook, From an iPod found in Canal Park; Duluth, MN, from Right Hand Pointing and John Berryman is Dead from White Sky e-book

He has been the recipient of five Pushcart Nominations.

Poems in his latest microchap, Postcards from the Knife-Thrower, are from his unpublished full length manuscript. He used the Al G. Barnes Circus Route from 1934 which began its season March 31 in San Diego, made a circuit through the United States and Canada and ended the season October 29 in El Centro, Ca. Each part of this series consists of one month from the season, April-July. The intention is for the work, as a whole, to be a narrative; a novella in chapbook/prose form.


 Alex's microchaps and selected poems are available below.  Download  as a single=page PDF - learn to fold microchaps from this page.

Origami Microchap

Selected Poem(s)

Postcards from the Knife-Thrower   

Alex Stolis CVR Postcards from the Knife Thrower 

Cover from web



April 27 Santa Cruz, CA

Simple dissonance between balance and air;
no science or empirical evidence, no practice
tests, no fear. There is harsh steel, the crumble
of sawdust underfoot, hushed silk. From afar
it seems there is nothing to it, vagaries of light
and sound, leftover litanies; bones and scraps
for the unbelievers.

Alex Stolis © 2017

Dead Letter Office, Vol. II



Unsent Letter #8

Dear J,
Remember the night we stole your father’s car? The halo-glow
of the porch light illuminated our crime. You slid across the long
bench seat, told me to drive. Drive to nowhere; drive over the edge
of the earth; watch the look on God’s face as we crack the horizon.
I remember crickets singing louder the further we went; the hum
of wind through wing windows. There was clean static from AM
radio; your hand on mine. I wake, three four five times a night
and you’re invisible; a shadow; a heart-shaped moth watching
over me as I fall to sleep.

Alex Stolis © 2013


Dead Letter Office


For J
…so you can carry me in your pocket


Unsent Letter #4

I think about carefully writing letters then
leaving them in random places:
Dear Subway Passenger,
Dear Passer-By,
Let me tell you about my lover. She’s beautiful
in that way sadness has of rounding out edges.
She likes to go barefoot; better to feel the earth
tremble, she says. She worries about the sun when
it rains. Likes to sit in her grand-mother’s chair;
best seat in the house when it thunders. She
believes in
long good-byes and wide-open spaces. Last thing
she told me was how words seemed to come alive,
when written by hand.
Alex Stolis © 2012


A Cabal of Angels, Part 2


…and a cabal of angels with finger cymbals
chanted his name in code, we shook our fists
at the punishing rain;
and we called upon the author to explain.
Nick Cave


Tabbris; Angel of Self Determination

What will be left after you are truly gone:
the frayed end of a thread
from your sweater;

bare bulb flickering in the closet;
a dog-eared book
with a coffee stained cover?

There is no past. I’ll pick now to remember
what it was like; the scent of rosewater
and wood smoke,

the rumble of wings against sky as I watch
you tie back your hair. There is no such thing
as forgiveness or second chances.

I’d rather drink to sin; picture you at the end
of the bar, hair shorn, legs crossed high
ready to start a revolution.
Alex Stolis © 2012


Monday's Child


Cover Art: Julia Klatt-Singer


Wednesday's child is full of woe

It was the first day of spring; like any other day
but flatter; a tight-chested-wait-for-the-shoe-to-
drop day. We tried to be good, tried to placate the
part time gods. Parked cars heat up on Main Street.
She’s newly minted in her halter top, sling backs
and black tights; that buzz should be over by now.
I watch the sun fight shadows on the downtown
skyline; can’t keep anything, can’t imagine words
anymore without you in them. You play piano:
soft, low; a prayer, a processional song for saints
and the forgotten. I have to say everything twice;
make sure I believe.
Alex Stolis © 2012


A Cabal of Angels


because you are the Angel of Beauty


Uzziel; Angel of Faith

Open the door. It’s a balcony room;
its solid sea top to bottom, I never know
when you’ll show up.
Wildwood dreams and parked cars;
somewhere a bird, what kind I can’t tell
but you’re in a hurry.
Don’t wait; now, the coffee’s boiled over.
You have a husband, children
and a dog; the buzz of a room service bell.
Here’s the [our] last leg.
The television is blurred; jai alai on sound off.
Two dollar bets and torn tickets.
We’re mobile.
We’re Crown Vic’ed and convertible.
I love you.
I love you. Don’t forget
your wrap.
It’s getting cold.
Alex Stolis © 2012