Issue 113

Nothing terrible lurks outside our great and meady hall. The night is not / a warning. The flood is not a lesson.

the lord / has mocked / has envied and spied / has burlesqued and lined / with fine material / this moss

In no world was there enough medication, technology, or manpower to keep everyone alive.

Someday, in heaven, you insist / apologetically, we won’t have / these bodies

I felt hungry every / day and reveled in it. No sin could stain me the more I abstained.

Even though Aylon painted it in 1978, there were still oil drops around the outside of the frame. The painting appeared to drip.

Yesterday our children, playing / in a tree, watched as the tiniest bird / fell from above them, / where it belonged, / to land below them, / where it did not.

Is a spoon still a spoon, ——————————bent by two hands to look more ——————————————————————–—like a moon? Some nights, I take a walk down to the cul-de-sac, lay myself on the gravel, ————–—play a different kind of dead. It sounds like a fiddle. The boy calls me sylvan, ——————————eagle-boned & I know what he means. He…