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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


the table
Iain Britton

              shifts

& autumn's fruit takes root
 

stems twine upwards

bruising ceilings

           sunlight suffocates young shoots
 

& a woman eats tangelos
 

 juice creates landscapes of commodities

I rerun the sequence of seasons
 

religiously obsessional

we agree     this gratification

is mutual

>>>

the proof is in the stripping off

      of personal needs         the loss of camouflage

 
the bond between us
carries us further

drops us like bread for arthritic hands

the emaciated        traversing lost kingdoms

           of  location location
 

the woman peels a tangelo

           & watches us pass

<<<

the table is set
       chairs strategically placed

the window sees differently

     a graven image siphons grubs from the sky
 

fruit trees          grow

          through the floorboards

you unravel your long hair for the hungry / the crippled /
the semi catatonic

but they know how to climb / how to climb straight up

we hurriedly make amendments
                    to our plans

 
                      I pull on your hair /         as if it were rope           

        turn off the lights

                 climb the darkness

of a shell inside a shell               I climb

         participating in a cosmic transformation

>>>

I replay examples of workmanlike thoroughness

             to make the day tick
             to make you more real

because this doesn't happen            too often

 

 

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