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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


Pluto
Jessea Perry

     

Went where I went and felt great feelings on account of my temper.

 

And if there was a mural, a portrait, a flock of local birdlife

and all the cages merely garden instruments for directing winds.

 

No one asked you how difficult it is to accidentally start a fire.

 

What so we failed. What we ambled, whose biography-in-film.

 

It's become sentimental to lie. Mauled by tigers,

murder ballads put him on the banks of the concrete river.

I was in two states

 

Just bass, grail and owl.

 

The history of the great war. Then I ratted myself

out to the outrage of crows.

 

I transpose weird feelings with holiday songs.

 

I take you very seriously commandeered by the criss-cross

of Adeline and Market where I considered parking

and kneeling like a photographer for canonized ammo sashes.

 

In the event of syllables namedropping

plagues and insects, enunciated like locust.

Re-keyed anthems.

 

The history of a forested state cold as fronts, a municipality,

a golden bear in the sun. A glen is haloed behind you

like a parking lot for racing.

 

There are lights in the trees to put up

and take down again. So you fetter yourself.

My planet and chiming par for cars on streets,

the way the mallet bounced irretrievably.

 

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