Posted last evening,
A wet sleeping cinnamon thigh
Tucked under cool golden sheets
Slipping in the tightness of his crusting
Rambunctious hands of earth rubbed
Fingers.
(the presences of qualities and internal meanings
task is to move humans by
means of achieving mastery in content, technique, feeling.)
behave differently toward works of art:
“sacrifices”
the best structures designed by the
best architects
display them.
attend them.
bathe, feed, and clothe them. not
just as objects, but also as persons.
the tyranny of aesthetics[, though].
where what is missing is the presence of power,
a dead “thing” separated from nature.
the art,
the music,
all taken over.
cut themselves off.
be aware of what they are doing
stop importing Greek myths and the
Western Cartesian split point of view and root ourselves in the
mythological soil and soul
of the earth
to be nurtured in it.
Splattered ink seeps into my sore fingertips, catching on rough pages
Stop trying to fill every second with tremendous meaning
Let go – it won’t kill us
The dead leaves fade away
With the hot of summer encroaching
I hear your footsteps clack on the linoleum
Melting the frothy brew from my teeth
With constant suppression and regression
Chattering to make a scene and grab your attention
If only for a while it is/was real as could be, but it's honesty and fear that's getting me into knots.
Afraid to live and afraid to die, I can't stand by watching you cry in pain as my heart
sings sad songs to this empty sky to take it away from here.
Tell me you love me and let's fly away free.
From a love-bird to a soul mate, it's all in a day.
While the journal is dedicated to the writers who submit their work to us, here we'd like to show off a few pieces from our editors. Enjoy!