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..:: CONTENTS ::..
   Volume IX, Issue I

..:: 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
   Volume VII, Issue II
   Volume VIII, Issue I

 
Poetry


Only Pencil
Sheila Murphy

 

Only pencil needs a story, and a pair of eyes require

a place. A place may need the fizz of interaction.

Everyone is spaced to meet the needs.

The needs regale us with ourselves.

We see ourselves in others' needs.

We hack through reeds (some of us hear them).

And the ice wind turns to warm wind,

and the daylight falters prior to becoming

long-term fact. We factor in what has become of us.

We recognize in us the other selves.

The others selves (all twelve) will follow.

And the followers will lead into

the fallow yard, the acreage,

with scars and output and the infinite

capacity to feed.

 

 

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