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



by Jasmine Dreame Wagner

The white moose grins
with teeth so mellifluous,
so orderly in the Definitive
Guide to Holiday Craft,
which I have plucked
from a stranger's shelf,
which does not mention
Christmas. Its pages are
gummy with White-Out,
perhaps, a self-portrait,
white moose. How do you
navigate the starless sky
when the moon hunkers
down in her trailer, lone
headlamp dangling, myopic.
When all the candles
of all the cakes have
blown out. When all the
taillights of all our father's
Buicks have gone out, too,
will you walk me down this
discount alley of warehouse
storage, announce yourself
in a newsflash chorus of
flickering red nines. You
have been asleep longer
than you had topsoil. Your
fame, galaxy-wide, tossed
over one shoulder. We
want to know one fact
about each and every star
because we, too, are
gold-embossed, because
we, white moose, have been
plucked, like you, because
our flesh is ornament.


by Tim Keane

they haven't bulldozed
these ghosted no-holds,
an aery, with shuttered
peek-a-boo gates, vacant
museum to fertile bargains
where bicyclists pedal
holding their noses through
the slipstream & their bike
spokes quicken, flashing
a fanny pack's zipper-grip
& the silver wide-angle lens,
on the promenade, where
the film crew close in on
elderly actors doing tai-chi
catching an echo-scent from a guardrail,
a cold wind, dense with flounder,
a river-gust thick with cod, grouper
as truckers barrel down the ramp
and decelerate, gazing at the no-holds,
craning from cab-windows
and wolf-whistling at no one,
admiring the wet hair
that maps the fine tributaries
on the shoulders of mermaids
only they remember.

Photograph by Josh Chesney

Photograph by Josh Chesney

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