..:: CONTENTS ::..
   Volume VII, Issue II

..:: POETRY ::..

..:: PROSE ::..
..:: OTHER ::..

..:: ETC ::..
   Contributor's Notes

..:: ARCHIVES ::..
   Volume I, Issue I
   Volume I, Issue II
   Volume II, Issue I
   Volume II, Issue II
   Volume III, Issue I
   Volume III, Issue II
   Volume IV, Issue I
   Volume IV, Issue II
   Volume V, Issue I
   Volume V, Issue II
   Volume VI, Issue I
   Volume VI, Issue II
   Volume VII, Issue I


the table
Iain Britton


& autumn's fruit takes root

stems twine upwards

bruising ceilings

           sunlight suffocates young shoots

& a woman eats tangelos

 juice creates landscapes of commodities

I rerun the sequence of seasons

religiously obsessional

we agree     this gratification

is mutual


the proof is in the stripping off

      of personal needs         the loss of camouflage

the bond between us
carries us further

drops us like bread for arthritic hands

the emaciated        traversing lost kingdoms

           of  location location

the woman peels a tangelo

           & watches us pass


the table is set
       chairs strategically placed

the window sees differently

     a graven image siphons grubs from the sky

fruit trees          grow

          through the floorboards

you unravel your long hair for the hungry / the crippled /
the semi catatonic

but they know how to climb / how to climb straight up

we hurriedly make amendments
                    to our plans

                      I pull on your hair /         as if it were rope           

        turn off the lights

                 climb the darkness

of a shell inside a shell               I climb

         participating in a cosmic transformation


I replay examples of workmanlike thoroughness

             to make the day tick
             to make you more real

because this doesn't happen            too often



//   Advance   //