CAROL SHILLIBEER : Small Things
BRAD HILL : Seven Days From Eternity
JANET I. BUCK : Likenesses
POETRYREPAIRS v13.01:007
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Small Things Seven Days From Eternity Likenesses  
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CAROL SHILLIBEER
Small Things
hollow reeds, November brown, bend the dark water, lean toward mud marks on the shore. ice trace – four tiny toes – imprinted in water, on earth, memory recorded during night's hunt for summer seed. half a pelvic cradle, matted hair brown pellet felted inside an owl, long gone probably sleeping somewhere near, quietly concealed in the late day winter grey aspen and birch. no snow yet, but the chainsaws have been running; smoke hangs from black chimney pipe. cut larch trunks across the path wait. faded, the noise of a truck making its way back down the mountain into the early dark; the rustle of a hare still moving. the hackberry shudders with the passage of first night owl; I wonder sometimes if I could map the flicker of mouse tail would I understand change? in the hollow of a boot print, a tattered owl feather. a breath of air stirs barbules; tiny hairs on the back of my neck, hook the air – and say? heard like a whisper in a windstorm.
POETRYREPAIRS 13.01:007
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I have many things to write unto you but   I will not write with pen and ink
--JOHN the theologian




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Small Things Seven Days From Eternity Likenesses  
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BRAD HILL
Seven Days From Eternity
Eden is long since empty. Atom has split. Eve is an electron Cursed to share herself Like the Mary-whore To create new sparks. A tampering beast Plays God the best he can - A loser with winning records. Belly to sand - Standing ready for the push of A button. Man devising God with Every dousing-rod imagined, Fooling himself in thinking A harness yoked about the neck Is no guarantee of cataclysms. A worthless frock padding The back and crippling the spine. Inedible cancers brandished like a Weapon of sin Came from that fruit Eaten yesterday, freshly extracted From the mouths of pigs.
POETRYREPAIRS 13.01: 007
Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato




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Small Things Seven Days From Eternity Likenesses  
POETRY requires a mature audience ENTER only if you are 18+ under 18? klik here

JANET I. BUCK
Likenesses
It is the season of onyx heart and glitter's panther and party fuzz. Alcohol looks prettier this time of year. I space how lethal sauce can be. Leaving flesh like wrinkled fruit surrounded by that nausea in piles of rancid sauerkraut. Once upon a stupid time, it picked at icebergs, loosened grips of sinking ships. Messing up my curly hair enough to fool snakish tresses with its sweat. Perhaps my "bottom" lingering just wasn't far enough to fall. I didn't have to choose between the ethered state and milk or bread, or pillows for a throbbing temple, bursting seams with boiled lies. I watch you roll your worldly goods down sidewalks of these city streets. Everything you own is tied to a dolly with stretching ropes that could have been my broken arms. I look around and see myself, wires poking through a mattress made of flimsy winter clouds. If not for money's cold blank verse, we could have been the same damned poem. Torn diplomas of my vows should tell me just how close I was. But pain in time-- alchemizes, Frenchifizes-- wool to cashmere memory.
POETRYREPAIRS 13.01: 007
CAROL SHILLIBEER : Small Things
BRAD HILL : Seven Days From Eternity
JANET I. BUCK : Likenesses
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