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..:: CONTENTS ::..
   Volume VI, Issue II

..:: POETRY ::..


..:: PROSE ::..

..:: ETC ::..
   Contributor's Notes

..:: ARCHIVES ::..
   Volume I, Issue I
   Volume I, Issue II
   Volume II, Issue I
   Volume II, Issue II
   Volume III, Issue I
   Volume III, Issue II
   Volume IV, Issue I
   Volume IV, Issue II
   Volume V, Issue I
   Volume V, Issue II
   Volume VI, Issue I

 
Poetry


Newly Apiary
Jessea Perry

     

I still crane overnear

             a room-crossing propped-up                           and arched back

a permanent monthly occurrence        blackballed and held up

 

I was implored to make a phone

             call, I was given a 2-hour courtesy notice

                               I shrink back

             near freeways

not muffled by retaining walls        making predictions

             hunched in Americana         a sticker on a light pole

                               a wave of empathy gaining momentum

                                                  the further away from cornfields

                               we huddle                nobly with very straight posture

 

fallen percolate accordion masked-off

             and subway-worldly                 Valhalla

                               a great lit net              a foot pedal sparely

             creaks the spinet

                               what prow expansive Grand Lake

             gravity savannah

                               Clementine                 mycological society

 

grommeted in the Marin backwoods dark

 

the soundtrack to your Halloween reverie

             spoon-bending half-life

moving backward and forward through gates

 

portholed and decidedly accessible

             roadtripping to ascertain

                               one small room in Santa Cruz

where widows walk

             and in stereo a brash hint dropped

on the way out few and far

                               hook and waver your age      snap bent in reams

 

                               rather over-acoustic, prophetic

             and candor but for the mysterious

death of our bumblebees

 

Should new bulbs grow in November? Should treehouses?

             and customary to put by graves professional sandcastles

customary to visit the old neighborhood

 

I, for one, am inefficient and grasping

             and lacking a tape recorder

             only making future playlists

trying to remember if they moved the primary

 

We have so many choices                                     I have so many ways

             to satisfy my curiosity

I live in a country of great riches

 

but for the long pause of salted light

             through fog electric damp                      a decentralized fountain

 

where I first had a key for a mailbox

             craving slightly

                               smaller letters for writing letters

             dropped pomegranate seeds snarl

a parking ticket pardon

             goes to Canada for the lakes

there and the roofs

 

and the almond crops

and the cherry crops

 

//   Advance   //