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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


Present
Philip Byron Oakes

     

Lucky to have me stuck grinning at death of any way
to know reclusion by rubbing shoulders without the years
of groundwork laid out in perky rows of azaleas just
now dawning as he gently dozes off to the hell in his own
handbasket of memory slept through
to applaud the fabulous essence of what comes
packaged as fluff to the pillow and little more or less
the time it takes to rumble in the jungle and be off
before the police put on their fashion show of blue
for all the good it does the poor in getting drunk
to save the sober the trouble in driving home
the point well taken to mean the end is
as promised, near

 

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