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..:: CONTENTS ::..
   Volume IX, Issue II

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

   Volume VIII, Issue II

   Volume IX, Issue I

 
Poetry


(Spill-O in the Palace of Eternity)
Colin Dodds

 

The current beginning,
is an early scene, a curtained hour
in the American Motel Experience.

Knowing his own holy volatility,
Spill-O deliberately left the night table
out of his designs.

His scouts scouted, his engineers surveyed.
The motel was the actual and ideal body
for his American Soul.

A pyramid of two institutional mattresses
rose to harmonize a sky of rough stucco.

Spill-O fell through the days
like a bead of water through a series of fists,
broke through the thin crust of ghosts
and ascended to skies of ever more venal angels.

The call finally came from the front desk.
They told Spill-O just one word
and it lasted forever.

 

 

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