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BODIES SPEAK by Paige Simkins lazy Sunday red lover wait for me your body your blood night ray speaks to me lay your time down as to bushes under a ledge as I lie down in still wait your black hair I run through my fingers run deeper through the gate of your heart our bodies lay in each other jazz on a note sung by blue surrounded by light I see no dark visions as I look upon your sex I see you enter me on this evening this moment written in the stars when starlight connected us though the universe deepened us long ago made us sink when only our dark our bodies lay still in each other our bodies do not ask time where it goes it is not gone |
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BLACK BUTTERFLY by Christopher Kildow Moon |
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SCIENTISTS SAID THAT by Jonathan Shipley When I look in your eyes, I die. When I look in your eyes, I live. How can a heart stop the instant it starts? When I look in your eyes, my life begins and ends. Every single time. They say — scientists — our bodies are wholly new every seven years — every cell in us different. Scientists said that, and Ben Folds, in that one song you sing in the car that melts me. I love you. I want you. I'm always going to want you. Every beat until there are no more beats. When I look in your eyes, I turn to ash. I turn into a great oak. I turn into a flame. An ocean. What do you see when you look in my eyes? My world incinerates. Blooms. Withers. Expands. Each look I'm a Phoenix roaring out of the ash and fire. Screaming clean of myself. When I reach the sky I freeze and fall back to earth. Shattered. Mortal, like all. The ends of stories that never end. The universe — scientists say — is always expanding. I'm just a star. You're just a woman, aglow in the firmament of grace.
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PETAL PATH by Christian DeLaO
FRANKENSTEIN'S MONSTER |
by Jonathan Shipley We are all Frankenstein's monster. Seeking out love in the quiet spaces. All of us knitted together, scarred and whole, scared and cold, seeking out love in the quiet spaces. Each stitch a memory. Each fused piece of us some other person. Words they comforted us with. Arms that enfolded us. Hearts that beat for us and beat in us. A quilt of flesh, patterned and beautiful in the dark quiet spaces. We're monsters. How do we not see this in the light of day? Whole beings, whole minded, wholly perfect. We are these things, regardless, as we go into the forest looking for our one bride we've already been made from.
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CHIHULY GLASS FLOWERS by Sophia Ewing
FOR PROFESSOR BRIAN BEST |
by Jared Pearce Both times it was over Tennyson's art. You pointed out the form of the Lotus Eaters, saying students couldn't discuss, much less craft, the poem. Though not smart, My eighty-two lines, you said, weren't bad, if I'd cut the extra two lines. And then, arguing the image of experience, you didn't agree but nodded: Well, yes, but— I was a loose undergrad tracking down meaning with the club of my tongue to secure it until I could work a scalpel for reading And emboldened by the grace you gave grudging. I wonder still if I've lived up to your hard sufferance? Am I even worth your frown? |
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