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..:: CONTENTS ::..
   Volume VII, Issue II

..:: POETRY ::..


..:: PROSE ::..
..:: OTHER ::..

..:: 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
   Volume VI, Issue II
   Volume VII, Issue I

 
Poetry


Lovers I
Emily Gilbert

We rub two coins together and try to start fires. We plant
the thin discs in fertile soil and sing séances over half-
corpses, try to animate seeds and the desiring conjure. We
wail, beat our breasts. Sun slants into metal; the rays crease
into cool skin and thus soothe like a searing poultice. The
glint consumes, the blasphemies glitter out from spider
holes and so the louder sings. We sway. Light behind
pewter clouds breaks loose, flocks of crystallized amber
pound down upon our upraising—we root, sprouts bitter.
We accuse, break our halves in whole, and still we smell no
smoke. Feign diamonds in the detritus, press paper out of
stirring. A heart, and open, won't you hear me? We gauze
over faces, but mouths are too far apart. Air in tattered
sheets, our jury sleeps, and home so walks with blistered
hands.

 

 

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