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


FIREWHEEL by Allyson Seconds

FIREWHEEL by Allyson Seconds

by Darren C. Demaree

It's destroyed, that shape of air
between two bodies, resting
for movement, waiting

for the literal shapes of men
to search out a domain,
a multitude of carvings

proving to punctuate the small
nature of forms rushed together,
to prove the ultimate swallowing

of atmosphere? Boom, boom,
the thunder stuns us all.
Boom, boom, we put our hands

into gloves to protect them
from the elements. We have
made no such promises

to the molecules between us.

by Jane Blue


The old Rose of Sharon throws out an array of magenta hibiscus flowers, bright in the sun: budding or splayed out full; or decaying, withered as an old vagina— each individual short-lived but taken as a whole brilliantly alive, covered with small flitting bees. And the "lady ailanthus" (he said) flaunts her sex, drooping fringed orange flowers and putting out a stink seeds from the dull male tree swarm to. I don't feel abandoned so often anymore.


I am thinking of the incredible profusion of life: neon jellyfish in a black sea like sperm with their parachute heads and wriggling tails, swimming in a salty womb. They are so mindless and persistent. I am thinking of the seasons of love and how life continues. I am thinking... The shadow of a bird just flew straight out of the Rose of Sharon into my kitchen, and I ducked.

by Erren Geraud Kelly

Tall white girl on a blustery
And the sun refuses
To show its face
But her jeans
Hold the shape of Africa
Making me smile

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