HANDS by Christian DeLaO |
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OUR VERY EYES
by James Benton My joker to your ace of spades, behold: the pea beneath the walnut shell. Your three-of-hearts blossoms into roses and this cane becomes a living snake. Skeptic give me your hand; I will place your missing childhood back within your reach. Believer take my gift. Now taste as grass music blows across this turn of cards. Touch the pluck of coinage from this curled bug. Your pocket glass ignites a cone of sunlight from a warm horizon waning to an untied knot, a silk scarf dancing to applause, all promises this time kept the way I vanish after making transparency opaque in the bolt of sudden doves, in the gravity of smoke, I see it now, in your unflinching gaze, the way your wonder vanishes and reappears for me before our very eyes. |
MIRRORED ALTAR Installation Art by Terre Busse Reflection Photo by Christian DeLaO |
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ONE, BECOME A BUDDHIST
by Oliver Rice Taylor, our jesting guru, revery's fool, knowing we may sleep late on a Saturday, delays his arrival until second coffee time, bearing pastries and a harried look, declaring that he was up until three, shivering on his porch, attempting to contact the night spirits. Halloo, he declares he emitted into the stealthy hush. Halloo. Are you there? What do you know that we do not? Listen to our ironies. We wish to take original sin into outer space. We are inhabited by tales of outlaws. Dubious myths cruise our freeways. Our judgments vacillate. Our facts are never all in. What do you know that we do not? Well, I say, sensing my cue, what did they answer? One, he says, become a Buddhist. And two, when in doubt, always choose a chocolate-covered, coconut-sprinkled Danish. |
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