#217 v15,09.098
20th anniversay issue #2
RALPH MONDAY : All the Dead Spaces
LAURIE CORZETT : Lesson of the Greast Depression
098poet3 : 098poem3

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RALPH MONDAY
All the Dead Spaces

The rain always comes when someone passes, swirling through the dark cedars, raking leaves away, zephyr harbinger, banshee plucked from the stars. Rain cold, wet, lifeless gray, casket perched above that hole in space, no honor for the corpse, no timť, kudos, empty thoughts for perished Greeks. She was a whore, elements of her trade forged in a starís dying nucleus. Filling this lonely hole the way that she took on men to fill her desolate thoughts. She was family. Kin of trees, clouds, moon, motherís daughter, brotherís sister, sins remitted by holiday table. She was a girl, brown legs kissed by summerís spell, smile the smell of sunflowers crinkled at the edge of a field. She was an egg pierced in loveís dark realm by hunting sperm the way a star throws off magnetic arms. She was nothing. Dust to dustóirony in that return since her life sprang from the gaseous dust of a dying star, supernova as ultimate ejaculate into the dark womb of space to gestate for 12 million years or more before the planet seeds took shape and ringed the sun like a bellyís navel. Came eventually the human race, ugly bags of mostly water, people wet inside everywhere like a Vancouver winter. Reduced now to component elements tossed out by the dying star: 4-6 pounds of iron, gold, calcium, potassium, carbon and a few other trace elements. Stars to stars, gases to gases, gazing in at the hole to be filled, I know why we gaze at the heavens. We are looking for ourselves.

POETRYREPAIRS #217 v15,09.098





LAURIE CORZETT   
Lesson of the Greast Depression

The machines stand patiently ready to act on human command. Workers expectantly arise to resume their duties. Tools, systems, routes, logistics lined up for service. Plants to sow and reap; structures to build, maintain, repair, replace; commodities to be united with their markets; music to be played; enchanting murals to paint; shows that must go on; coffee to be made; errands to run; endless activities and professions imposing order on entropy. Teach the curious, heal the sick or broken, enforce the law, tend to the poor. Societyís capillaries clogged by a powerful voodoo. All is needing to be done, but stopped dead or cancerously receding from living for want of the magic beans, the mysterious force of money, a social construct gone mad, constricting the flow of life.

POETRYREPAIRS #217 v15,09.098




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