Troy Cunio lives everywhere but usually in Orlando, Florida. He started to ramble as soon as he graduated high school. Since then, his travels have taken him to Panama City, Macchu Picchu and more sordid corners of Peru, as well as the Bahamas, the entire northern coast of Spain, Munich, Salzburg, and various places around the United States including remote parts of the Southwest and Southeast. The next major outing will take him to Belize, Mexico, the West Coast, and parts unknown for as long as his cash holds out. Cunio has had poems published in Strong Verse, and Sweet Wolverine. Read his collection, Inkstained Heartbeats or better still, book him for a reading.
More from The Journal
- Postcard Prose
By Kelly Hill
Trying to wrap my mind around living on a tropical island for thirteen years and never once seeing the ocean, I stumbled through my Indonesian vocabulary to say, It’s good. It’s big.
- Travel Notes
By Sandra Larson
A dinosaur dangles over my grandson at the Field Museum near a pink thumb that pops into the prom picture of my granddaughter dressed in strapless red leaving her house in Medina …
- Travel Notes
By Megan Hallinan
The bill in question is actually a 2,000 West African franc note, and it’s the equivalent of about four U.S. dollars. A helpful sum, really, but as I clutch the weathered crinkle in my sweaty palm, its value feels as dirty as the grime that is undoubtedly being transferred to my fingers.
to Egg and Berry brewery, to the pack / of Czechy words I made but didn’t work / in this pink town. I’d readily go back / to your best spots, the unfired gun, that perk //
By Jason Warren
And if the neap tides of my beauty / sadden him, I cannot help it: / I hang high, the waxy night light …
By Anastasia Vassos
Three thousand ancestors ask how I straddle / the sea, a foot on either shore. //