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"A BETTER PLACE TO BE"
by William S. Gainer It's not the muscle or tendon that keep the bones from collapsing. It's the rust, stale grease and corner scum of the factory floors holding them up. Too many years on the assembly line pulling the future from the past, too many dreams built for no one to sleep with. but there's always that one last cigarette, a cool place out of the sun, and someone to pour the whiskey. We grow old and time moves on, we've built ours. The young ones build theirs, empires without soil, not a blister, callus, or a dirty finger nail. It's a new world, "A better place to be?" |
IN PIECES by Christian DeLaO |
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A STUDY OF SCHIZOPHRENIA 2
by Marchell Dyon Jefferson She talks to your dead mother still. Your sister admits Mom has said it was time your sister join her. Mom tells your sister to spit up her meds down the toilet. Mom tells your sister to cut herself. Instinct tells you to hide the knives, and other sharp objects. Instinct tells you, you are not enough to guard her. When she tells you 3 o'clock in the morning she is set to leave in her personal Rapture and of Mom's loneliness in Heaven. |
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RECITAL
by B.Z. Niditch The thunderstorm daydream leaps over a mushroom search my eyes are volcanoes opening here in Aspen chasing my sunny breath on the bridge late for an afternoon recital the "E" string walks away from me unsuspecting the passages of Ravel's embracing notes. |
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