Epistolary
6 February 2008
Vol. 7, No. 4
poetry
Dear BLANK.
I shall be brief, but frank,
Terse if not curt, aloof, though unswerving—
What little we had amounted to nothing.
The Nyctophobe
4 February 2008
Vol. 7, No. 4
poetry
It's a furnace of the first place, fever of mine.
The mattress can't be trusted. I suture shut my eyelids.
I align my terrors to their predetermined brinks.
But the bed that is my boat, slopes lee side,
Then sinks.
First Fall
2 February 2008
Vol. 7, No. 4
poetry
Then Winter.
Then Spring.
Then came those seasons
That splinter from the seasons.
Then came the ring
That I wore without good reason.
And This Is What Happened
20 November 2006
Vol. 6, No. 3
poetry
That was the year I thought
I was going insane. Help, I said plainly.
I am having a mild case of the heartbreak.
When I looked at the fissure, all was glass and mistaken.
Despair Is the Only Unforgivable Sin
17 November 2006
Vol. 6, No. 3
poetry
O holy terror of a night, this mad,
malicious night, a supine night, bright
as bile, but anyway, inauspicious.
Bedraggled night, delicious as doom.
A night over which no angel will swoon.
O moon, O eye of God, unblinking.
And, yes, I have been drinking.
An Oracle Concerning the Melancholic Concubine
14 November 2006
Vol. 6, No. 3
poetry, editors' select
Sometimes you feel you've a touch of the broken heart,
when the orchid of evening wilts into nighttime,
when the darkness is not yet deep.
When you are tipsy with the grief of his leaving…