in the canopy,
my face dry
board-feet
bored feet
the pistillate red, the staminate orange
an unidentifiable feeling
a turtle at the waterline sunning
argosy of gorse
brief as hickories are under geese
undisburdened ferns
confessio nihil
darks alive
a sparking wheel
through the topmost leaves it was
you whet
starlight
down two long antennae
snail
-
Issue 67
-
Editor's Note
-
POETRY
- Jean C. Berrett
- Sally Bliumis-Dunn
- Aozora Brockman
- Catherine Carter
- Elaine Fletcher Chapman
- Alice Clara Gavin
- Michael Homolka
- Josh Kalscheur
- Dore Kiesselbach
- Brandon Krieg
- Peter LaBerge
- Steve Lambert
- Jennie Malboeuf
- Peter Munro
- Joe Pan
- Simon Perchik
- Nora Hutton Shepard
- Matthew Stark
- Vivian Teter
- John Sibley Williams
- Matthew Wimberley
-
FICTION
Issue > Poetry
The Fallen Oak's Roots
ripped free round stones
a futile gesture
became the cornerstone
rounded red bricks wash up on the lake's revetments
childhood collapses as
soon as it's rebuilt, childhood lying
in bed by the open
window, smelling the mill-smell like
lilacs dripping semen
so, wander adult
the dye glowing your blood
you seeing you
transparent
as the rim of sky after
sky is not blue
a futile gesture
became the cornerstone
rounded red bricks wash up on the lake's revetments
childhood collapses as
soon as it's rebuilt, childhood lying
in bed by the open
window, smelling the mill-smell like
lilacs dripping semen
so, wander adult
the dye glowing your blood
you seeing you
transparent
as the rim of sky after
sky is not blue