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

Horace Caldwell Pier by Baxter Jackson


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)


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


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 by Karry Walker
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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