UNSAID
by David Dane The words hurt. As soon as I think them, I regret. My regrets form a bouquet; beautiful dilemmas that I have arranged so carefully for myself. I breathe in their fragrances and take comfort from the words left unsaid. Then I write the words down. They look inconsequential. I move them about on the page like peas on an unfinished plate. I erase them and write them down again. Then I throw the pages out. I do not speak the words because the words hurt. There is no shame in words left unsaid. I swallow the words. I feed on them like a dog at his bowl. I inhale the words as if there was nothing there at all. But there is something there and it fills me with a sense of emptiness. Because the words hurt, I don't speak them; instead I take nourishment from the words left unsaid. I contemplate what it means, not saying the words. Some things are better left unsaid. I suppose so; there is nothing left to be said now anyway. |
FISH ON BEACH by Katy Brown |
THE EATER
by Adam Phillips if there has ever been a place in my heart for the eater the heart is a brain misshapen, lost. at the supermarket in my brain I am the greeter and you wear a nametag, a red vest, and you are the boss. Together, we watch the cottony tentacles of the storm reach down to scrape the parking lot. Swallowed in a drab gray ocean. Soaking in one unbroken January afternoon. (this is simply the heart speaking, dressed as a brain) eater of souls. of dice. of bones. we're side by side when the eater washes over, dissolving trains, the fish market, you who never believe anything I say. |
BONES by Lynn Crounse |
BICYCLE
by Robert Lee Haycock Unable to do anything but bring fire to the tree rendering the saw useless amidst stacks of brick and translucent porcelain the actors unremember their lines laughing over spilt milk from Half Moon Bay to Moss Landing the children will not be quiet nor the radio trying to remember what the mad woman on the corner said about the sky giving birth to consequence for it made more sense than this. |