tree dilapidates in the face of dawn
in liquid dawn tree dissolves back
in liquid dawn tree dissolves back
By Christine Murray
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
Umbrellas
The type of wind
he could not find
breath-in
frail silks black-circle him
sheltering-in
By Christine Murray
he could not find
breath-in
frail silks black-circle him
sheltering-in
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
An Eighth of a Lemon
For Martha in the early years
life was recess, nothing more.
She knelt on asphalt,
quartered oranges for kittens
who never lost stringed mittens,
whose London Bridges
never fell down.
For Martha now,
life’s Parkview Manor
where a woman in white,
three times a day, bleeds
an eighth of a lemon into her tea.
life was recess, nothing more.
She knelt on asphalt,
quartered oranges for kittens
who never lost stringed mittens,
whose London Bridges
never fell down.
For Martha now,
life’s Parkview Manor
where a woman in white,
three times a day, bleeds
an eighth of a lemon into her tea.
By Donal Mahoney
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
In My Corner
Kneel to the weather. There is a fountain up ahead, glowing,
but no one is on my deck - no bones are dry
in my pocket. Criss-cross, betrayal in my juice cup.
Magic is for fools. Living here, my voice cut,
my pet octopus drowned. Living here
in elementary wealth - nothing but
old-world, nothing but chaos.
So heavy is the window I look through. Brick by brick
I count my way up.
but no one is on my deck - no bones are dry
in my pocket. Criss-cross, betrayal in my juice cup.
Magic is for fools. Living here, my voice cut,
my pet octopus drowned. Living here
in elementary wealth - nothing but
old-world, nothing but chaos.
So heavy is the window I look through. Brick by brick
I count my way up.
By Allison Grayhurst
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