Table of Contents
Pointless Poem About
The Existence of Non-Existenceby Richard Denner
Sitting in Mercy Hospital in Durango
I wait for Lama Tsering
An obese lady to my left in shorts and t-shirt
paints her toes copper
A tall Indian in a set of tails, his hair in a braid
turquoise and bone necklace
dark glasses and cowboy boots
paces the floor
A tough-looking dude with a tattoo on his calf
blood on his shirt
his right eye mangled
bounces a baby on his knee
Aliens 3 is on the TV
Copyright 2001 by Richard Denner (rychard@sonic.net).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
More poems by the author may be seen at dPress
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A Foreign Country
by Ronald Haun
It was a foreign country and he was lost.
The grass was too green, the slopes too extreme.
His car could not be found and somewhere he had left his soul.
Somewhere hard to remember.
He had a map but couldn't read it.
Where had he put his soul?
He was lost and no one was looking.
The horror was familiar but the woman was not.
She had asked him to stay then was glad when he said,
maybe I'd better go."
Women always love the weak man, rush to his rescue.
They love the superficial and easy to understand.
The country was foreign.
The people there unfriendly,
save for the children who recognized him.
But they were unreliable.
A little quiet time.
A lot of nowhere time.
And maybe it would all come back to him.
Where had he put his soul?
Maybe he left it on her breasts?
Copyright 2001 by Ronald Haun (Ronalot23@aol.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
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When you wake the morning
by Sam Vaknin
When you wake the morning
red headed children shimmer in your eyes.
The veinous map
of sun drenched eyelids
flutters
throbbing topography.
Your muscles ripple.
Scared animals burrow
under your dewey skin.
Frozen light sculptures
where wrinkles dwell.
Embroidered shades,
in thick-maned tapestry.
Your lips depart in scarlet,
flesh to withering flesh,
and breath in curved tranquility
escapes the flaring nostrils.
Your warmth invades my sweat,
your lips leave skin regards
on my humidity.
Eyelashes clash.
Copyright 2001 by Sam Vaknin (palma@unet.com.mk).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
More poems by the author are available here: Poetry of Sam Vaknin
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Letter to the Editor: Cherie Staples (skyearth1@aol.com).