I Today the idea of writing poetry is generally an absurdity. Too many of us must come home from a day's routine labor before we can sit down to think and/or feel poetry within us. Flashes come and go during the working day and it is possible we see the world constantly through our poetic…
My hand falling As if to reach under it. My black thumb, black tongue, Tasting the tear of the moth wing. The milk skim of my eye torn, The thorned leg of the locust Probing the pin of oil, My last seeing. Knees unbending Like the last wave of ocean, Sheet of sky settling. A…
And so was I, the camera, instructed to pan the island’s landscape, to zoom toward its capitol city. My body snapped, reclattered and shuttered to the rapid rhythm of spent flash bulbs which left purple wisps of (MGM Exploits Standard Fruit) glassy smoke across the skies of the Northern Province. Typhoid babies sucked death while…
EDITORIAL BOARD Coordinating Editors: DeWitt Henry Peter O'Malley Editorial Staff: George Kimball Andrew Littauer Kip Crosby Bruce Bennett Steven Sands Norman Klein Art Director: David Omar White Business Manager: Tom Hargadon CONTRIBUTORS From Outside U.S.A. HUGH MAXTON has a book of poems published by Macmillan Co., attended Wesley College, Dublin, went on to Trinity College…
It is unmanly to be gorging a hot fudge sundae, nuts and whipped cream in the afternoon. There are only women here with their shopping. Worse than sleeping late getting up after your wife has left for work. Yesterday I recognized myself coming out of a double feature into the sunlight.
learn to cut hit fade learn to look out learn to run carefully try to see in the night & scream silently they don’t care who you are learn to need it now learn to hate learn to hate learn to love your hate
You are asleep. The ward is quiet so I slip into your room disguised as a brain surgeon. I take your pulse. We sip the stale water. I take your pulse. This is why I write to you, this is how I began to love you: I saw you on television. I enjoyed your lecture…
My uncle had a birthmark a liver colored flame on his face. Who knows where that came from. I remember one photograph from 40’s Hollywood, my uncle Leo Carillo and a woman who was not my aunt for long and who was not the English Duchess my uncle could have married during the war. The…
oh! lucky girl! when you go home all the little boys will want to pull your pants off see your new U.S. steel legs shine
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