Contributed By: Ron Czerwien
Night in infinite decline,
it doesn’t matter. Stooges club each other
for joy, while a scale of ascending
bleats weigh the peripheries. From border crossing
to interrogation cell, a split hair.
I feel the urge to lift this curtain between us
with my teeth. I’m a jokester
and a terror. To think some agitated
dust would rush to revise my footprints.
And then there is you, unaccustomed to this cold
red smoke curling out of my sicknesses.
Return to table of contents for Issue 6 Fall 2012
1 I seem to live on and on. Perhaps I should make more of an effort. But while I still hobble— rather like Chaplin, that first angel of popular culture to descend to us— I’m included in groups like this. And group photos, once we have crossed the quadrangle of whatever college this is. (It […]
At the end of the path, just before the turn that would take her to the convent, she stood facing the hedge, running her hands along the bushes. “Here,” she muttered to herself, “here, here,” pushing a little at the dense green branches. And finally, her hand went in, a space big enough for a slender girl to push through.
Deconstruction, noun. Different meanings are discovered by taking apart the structure of the language used and exposing the underlying assumptions. – Collins English Dictionary Myth, noun. The second function of myth is to justify an existing social system and account for traditional rites and customs. – Robert Graves, “Introduction,” New Larousse Encyclopedia of Mythology Deconstruction began as […]
