c o n v e r g e n c e:
an online journal of poetry & art


EDITOR'S CHOICE: cynthia linville's

Samuel Mills Horace Caldwell Pier by Baxter Jackson

ALAMEDA SHORELINE By Samuel Mills along the shining narrow knife that cuts an artificial island from its clanging mother-city the reeking mud flats are bare and prehistoric beneath the same and only setting sun walking in the wake of a million differences, the world indifferent unchanged by change (an angel passing over in a hush of great wings a stirring in the house of old religion the beginnings and endings of all things should be observed by visiting the ocean) TWO THOUSAND MILES By Samuel Mills never mind the masters of the machinery of days the cold clockwork of stars the intricate alien arrangements that allow the arcs of this implausible mobile their motion and do not let the fact that they don't care — they do not do this for us but have their own obscure reasons for all this beauty — take the purpose from this night why would we need the gods to love us when we can play in their garden, regardless so far beneath their notice they'll never even know that we were ever here, or so amazed by the fantastic, uncaring world they have made POWELL ST, AFTER MIDNIGHT By Samuel Mills the old woman one seat ahead on the bus scratches off lottery tickets one after the other with the edge of a dime like a convict in the dead of night digging at the walls with a spoon Samuel Mills Photo by Karry Walker Samuel Mills is a poet from rural Virginia who can't seem to stop writing, despite his best attempts. He moved to California two years ago and makes his way by wit with the help of an oscilloscope and soldering iron in his Audio Rescue business. He likes banging on his roommate's piano and never turns down good Thai food.

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