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..:: CONTENTS ::..
   Volume VIII, Issue I

..:: POETRY ::..


..:: PROSE ::..

..:: 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

 
Poetry


from The Carmody-Blight Dialogues: 32
Charles Tarlton

 

     CARMODY: We were laughing loudly all the way home in the car.
     BLIGHT: I don't remember doing that.
     CARMODY: Maybe you weren't there.

In my dreams, when something bad happens to me it always feels well deserved. There is no
specific sense that I've done anything wrong, just a climate of guilt, so that I can never complain
or try to explain. This makes for the sort of dream that you're very glad to awaken from, if you
know what I mean.

in the doorway
living room lights behind him
my father, mad
switch in his hand, pauses
intensifying our fear

if the vacuum
broke and the power failed
that's exactly
what my wife will dream about
concrete things, and practical

anything can
operate as metaphor
for anything
else. Similarities
are not really required

 

 

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