RAY SUCCRE : Hello from the Down Below
JILL A. SCOTT : A Winter Resolve
RICHARD FEIN : Anarchist
POETRYREPAIRS v12.04:044
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Hello from the Down Below A Winter Resolve Anarchist  
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RAY SUCCRE
Hello from the Down Below
Of course you and I, brash and in loamless fields or streets, such that no savannah or sprawl of us is spread its worth far enough, are in bright air or tired soil, and we feed, for now, through the spank of long pipes down to the deep rot, and we can narrow the finest, tawdry eyes to have ever scoped the flat; you and I seem married to the pulse and triggered clit of an age. Of course you and I are fact here; we say hello; we're making things. We're the down-below people. We estimate to know and speak in probability; the end is crass and always there. We're easy pulled up as mallow root, as loves or violence, any, all, our feet stopped and hearts clotting, and after, we surmise to be drawn upward, dragged downward, boasting our beings away from the sort of place we make. It is not a minor fact that we keep all of our heavens and hells at such distance.
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Hello from the Down Below A Winter Resolve Anarchist  
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JILL A. SCOTT
A Winter Resolve
The rain cannot decide if it wants to be snow or ice or just rain... The pools that form in the cracks of the pavement threaten to freeze; and turn side walkers into slapstick comedians as they stroll distracted by street lamps reflecting off the snow- ice-rain puddles beneath their feet. The collective umbrellas shelter all but the misguided holiday shopper who saves a moment by passing in the street at the expense of a verdant suede blazer glittering with unidentifiable moisture crystals. A shop keeper lays rock salt beyond the threshold of her shop, smiling at the passers-by; brushing wet bangs from her eyes, with a gloved hand. She glances at the bank clock across the street.
POETRYREPAIRS 12.04: 044
Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato



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Hello from the Down Below A Winter Resolve Anarchist  
POETRY requires a mature audience ENTER only if you are 18+ under 18? klik here

RICHARD FEIN
Anarchist
I'm armed with a straw between my finger and thumb. I twirl it around, fidgeting like a cop with a nightstick. I've acquired patience. I wait. I endure. A sand dune endures for thousands of years, while it's passively blown by desert winds. It's pushed grain by grain for miles, but remains the same sand dune. And I also am pushed, and I also am swept away and seem to offer no resistance. But I have a single straw between my fingers. It's my armament. If I spin it, I create the weakest of whirlwinds, but one that's strong enough if I wait, if I endure. All that's needed the right dromedary. Anyone will do if it's struggling on a dune, not yet at the top but far enough so that its eyes see almost beyond that dune, and its feet totter but don't yet buckle under a load of straws pressing hard on its hump, with hope alone sustaining it for the last few steps. I wJILL Add my singular addition and hear its spine crack and then down comes the mountain with the mountaineer, for the grains beneath its hooves will have long been primed for an avalanche. My eyes are keen for this proper camel, my feet firmly planted on restless sand and my patient fingers armed with that single straw.
POETRYREPAIRS 12.04: 044
RAY SUCCRE : Hello from the Down Below
JILL A. SCOTT : A Winter Resolve
RICHARD FEIN : Anarchist

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