issue 4

october 2016

issue 4 - october 2016

Romancing - Mark Prisco

I wonder that some devil 
doesn’t show when you roll 
the dice across the wave- 
tossed board; and I, up all 
night turning some hot 
Latin word I once 
forgot; my love, we burn 
for this, good. I call
upon the dead selves beneath 
my toes, the hollow stare 
of those Who Know; the livid 
look of freshmen; the lips 
still questioning; affirm 
you live still in the mind, 
which is real, anywhere 
anytime. We divine
there’s more to death than this 
lumpen flesh I pierce 
with a spade; a glint 
remains in the worm-soiled 
skull interred now some 
6 years, ah: that 
dress she was buried in! 
even, permeates
the ground with stale perfume.

Some other time - Mark Prisco

Was there a time 
the lips met 
a minute before 
the glass was knocked 
and the blood wine 
gushed? Today

is dry; a faint 
mark remains, 
but the sentiment 
is dead, from the waist 
down. The flag-stones 
now bare were

coveted by feet 
that knocked about, 
heels that dug the rose 
bed and the plush 
bed-side rug.

Contributor's Note

I’d like to thank Winz. Without their support my poems would never have made it thru the womb.


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