TERRY WOLVERTON : Theory of Everything
YVONNE MORRIS : 'Blonde'
JOHN HORVATH Jr : Healing Process of Love Encountered Haphazardly
POETRYREPAIRS v13.04:048
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Theory of Everything 'Blonde' Healing Process of Love Encountered Haphazardly


TERRY WOLVERTON
Theory of Everything
In theoretical physics, M-theory is an extension of string theory in which 11 dimensions are identified. — Wikipedia
A string walks into a bar Cool light sidles her sheer length The jukebox plays “Fly Me to the Moon” A string walks into a bar The jukebox plays “Come Fly with Me” In the corner booth, a rusty knife A string walks into a bar In the corner booth, a blunt knife nurses a Pabst Blue Ribbon A string walks into a bar orders a Pabst Blue Ribbon swivels onto a tall stool A string walks into a bar slides onto a vacant stool awaits the bartender's benediction A string walks into a bar receives a tall, cool benediction She looks around for a light A string walks into a bar scrounges her purse for a light The bowl of bar nuts is down to a snowdrift of salt A string walks into a bar Salt from the bar nuts sucks moisture from her tongue She traces initials carved into the wooden ledge A string walks into a bar She traces initials that might once have been hers her eyes fill at the memory A string walks into a bar Memory spontaneously combusts Ice dies in the bottom of a glass A string walks into a bar Ice cracks open as it melts Blue neon shadows her sheer length.
POETRYREPAIRS 13.04:048
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Theory of Everything 'Blonde' Healing Process of Love Encountered Haphazardly



YVONNE MORRIS 
'Blonde' 
She was a dandelion puff as a girl a yellow-sweater dreamy in a weather-beaten way lost and found and lost again in terrible, grassy springs that blew gales of seeds into bare-breasted summers-- but, finding no place to land, she flitted and fluttered into ageless winter and now smiles with the teeth of a lion
POETRYREPAIRS 13.04: 048
Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato

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Solid Green
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Theory of Everything 'Blonde' Healing Process of Love Encountered Haphazardly


JOHN HORVATH Jr 
Healing Process of Love Encountered Haphazardly
We had met in a bar, the perfection of opportunity became a stubborn attribute of loneliness, where chances conformed to a gamers self-love, where her hand over my shoulder sought to quench dire thirsts forced a kiss midconversation as it were a natural reaction to close proximity. A quick kiss upon her slim wrist scarred like herringbone, that I thought it somewhat sad and also lucky happening because I had come to drink and to talk with a stranger – scores or players, the inconsequentials we might share like the failure of traffic lights to acknowledge when lovers need more time, the invisibility of the law whne it is needed, a judge who had fined me for hurried love with his daughter. All the true and imagined connection held dear, those that bound us in the social illusion. We would be dancers deceiving ourselves with knowledge of the dance. It was the ball above the dance floor, the source of light illuminating this or that movement, a face, a hand falling from shoulder to waist line, above it all, lighting her wrist as just another in the flood of crowd. I had convinced myself though I had been drinking and swollen so with confidence that words strung out heavily like an anthem in dirge time or the last second before an accident when you know unquestion- ingly that upon waking there would be a nurse in a white room, perhaps a few doctors swapping golf tips over the chasm of your open chest, heart exposed. Then she touched it. No one wants to die alone, last words echoing emptily against no one as if they had not been spoken, as if had they been spoken nobody cared to listen, as if one dying simply could not exist. Blood dripped from her fingers like a head of suds overflowing its public cup, the mug taking on a startled look as it hit the floor and I said, here now, I'll buy you another. When she smiled. I took her bright wrist to my lips for a last kiss. A long kiss. As a man who for several years had been deprived of woman. As a dog to its returning master. I kissed it. From the floor she smiled.
POETRYREPAIRS 13.04: 048
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TERRY WOLVERTON : Theory of Everything
YVONNE MORRIS : 'Blonde'
JOHN HORVATH Jr : Healing Process of Love Encountered Haphazardly

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