Part III
1 . Junks on Halong Bay, Vietnam, July 2007 by Fr. John Mossi, S.J.^
2 . Puzzling Pieces of Ponderosa Pines by Greg Hudson^
3 . Psyche by Spencer Hensley^
4 . Holocaust by Alex Dumke^
5 . On my way to lunch by Sabrina Mauritz^
I dropped a gas-dipped rag in the mailbox, then a match. The curling bills and letters smoked until the box burst shooting out gray specks. They looked like bugs coming from some broad dark mouth like in that movie I saw once with the prisoner who took away the pain of others. A man wrenched up a parking meter from the ground and threw it through a car window. There was a dog in the back seat, one of those fluffy squeaking lap dogs we all hate. The man yelled SHUT UP and squeezed until the barking stopped. The street was quiet. Last week, when I killed that dog there was a blanket protecting the back seat from fur. It wrapped around my shoulders and I felt warmer, like when I was a letter in a mailbox some crazy man set on fire.
6 . Stopping By Your Thighs on a Snowy Evening by Mary Elder^
your body’s food to me. I’m weak. It was too warm, and I too tired to resist. Inside the narrow pathways of your wrists, I read the dirty prints of hurried blood, the rot where you don’t look, the salty buffs. Bad darling, bodies are not ever ours. You’ve taken mine (or parts) to half-thought moors; black hair made loose down a girl’s white back will lie down in a thousand lands. The smack of flesh is good, but brighter in the brain. A little goes a longer way. No stains. Too late I wandered you, and I got lost, as once I slept in England, under frost and in a field. I woke up stiff and strange. So I found you, and shamelessly remained. Consumption has its joys, but flesh will boil and spread itself, a mist, a slick on oil, which when we cannot grip, we see. And we will live in hearts across the streets, the seas.
7 . Rail by Hiro Schneider^
8 . Stay Close by Alissa Cowan^
9 . black: by Chris Dreyer^
half twixt compulsion and will; drip-fill my vessel, o viscous oil. liquefy my insides! make me human once more.
10 . Stitches by Maureen Plass^
