GAIL ENTREKIN : Spring Break
DAVID HARRIS : Despair
BRAD HILL : Blink
POETRYREPAIRS v12.08:089
contemporary international poetry - for your reading pleasure,
poetry from new and established poets and essays on writing


All the fine arts are species of poetry--Samuel Taylor Coleridge




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GAIL ENTREKIN
Spring Break
Waiting for her in the airport, standing in the throng below the escalator watching arriving passengers descend, I fall into a reverie, Week 3 chemo, and for a minute I disappear. And when I come to, she is tapping my shoulder, her whole face smiling, her long hair swinging across her eyes. Her backpack on her strong shoulders, she bends to me, smelling the way she does, of fruit and hot sun, and a weight inside me shifts; I reach out for her; something black lifts and floats away. For 13 days even if her goings are more than her comings, even if I close my lips firmly on my mouthful of fear, I'll open my windows to let in all her shine, her voice will roll pleasantly over me, bathing me in long stories, laughter, music from another room. Katy's home and all the lights are on at my house.
POETRYREPAIRS 12.08:089
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DAVID HARRIS
Despair
You have no mail to open; no red light blinks its urgency at you signifying somewhere, your voice is desired is desirable you sit among last week's newspapers amid last month's dust accusing you last night's dirty dishes tables, counters, chairs, forlorn you read in your bathroom mirror tendrils of limp brown hair your cheeks sallow nightgown that bears signs from meals and sweat your voice implores: make a sandwich sweep away the yellowed pages your face among Mondays, Tuesdays, and yesterdays you pretend not to hear the television the measured voice of evening news you turn away from births and murders in town; you hear the zoo has gained a cheetah Dow-Jones is somewhat depressed you know the weather will be clear but cold tonight somewhere, there are war and famine. your side of that dusty mirror in house your bottle of relief is empty. His eyes seem empty. Jesus smiles from a painting on the wall; your lips a cigarette burns five minutes joy its stump crumpled into threadbare carpet you curl on the floor an only refuge your sleep dreamless behind your closed curtains a pale winter sun just now begins your eyes grow heay descend into evening you glance upward, pleading your night a silent prayer to the savior on the wall you please may never wake.
POETRYREPAIRS 12.08: 089
Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato





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BRAD HILL
Blink
Alabaster streams of consciousness Flow from the mind like Premature ejaculations Of Holy water, Scorching society's epidermal Layer of morality. Rainbows melt into black Droplets of wax, Trickling down, eroding the sands That make us all- Leaving mud For the children to wallow in. Dead babies hanging in The breeze like laundry. Haunting melodies Become national pastimes. Prosthetic families of ideologies Way past their time Sing siren songs on serpent breath. An illusion- If you blink, It's gone.
POETRYREPAIRS 12.08: 089
GAIL ENTREKIN : Spring Break
DAVID HARRIS : Despair
BRAD HILL : Blink
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