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Month: March 2018

I Notice The Beauty Of The Black Road

Posted on 10/03/201815/07/2018 by Dean English

I notice the beauty of the black road and the white lines shining in the wet night-varnish now setting at dawn. I’d slept good, for where it was, the Karori Sports Club porch light on all night, and the beautiful restraint of the Alsatian police dog and his fit pacific handler waking me, bristled snout…

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leonard cohen

Posted on 08/03/2018 by Mark Prisco

1             Cohen   when Leonard Cohen died i tried to write about it & couldn’t,   couldn’t feel it.     II trump’s elected the next day, so there’s poetry in his leaving.   2 a fly landed on the shadow of his hand on the page. i thought it was a sign but…

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from Hail Gazers #2

Posted on 08/03/201810/08/2018 by Dean English

1 Come the cold, darkening afternoon, the Earth tilting the drinker toward his retirement, the folding travel armchair in the sunny yellow corner by the elongated arms of knitted winter shadow, is taken back, and put into the box with the lid screwed on, the little Malt left. 2 You’re old enough to remember when…

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Up The Valley

Posted on 06/03/2018 by john keast

The nation’s loneliest building is anchored deep, steel legs wrapped in wire, and this looped on trusses. Here, the wind has no quarter; it roams and howls, tugging at the grey iron, bowing the walls. There is one inhabitant – a Land-Rover parked on dust. It is canvas and steel and wear plopped on thin…

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Home

Posted on 01/03/201801/03/2018 by Editor

At the far gable end two small windows, which were barred on the outside, flanked a small narrow room, which was portioned off from the rest of the room. It was used as a dressing room for amateur dramatics.

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Iodine Dreams

Posted on 01/03/201801/03/2018 by Editor

Mermaids like glitter called into the night, They swam in lemonade crystal currents, Navigating the ice chunks of iodine, Burnt haze danced around him, The Smokey shimmer his engulfed dinner coat, Dusk now sets it bares, Peach-puff was not an alley cat he knew, But he held on to his cats eyes, He was despised…

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on writing

Posted on 01/03/2018 by Mark Prisco

I go with what I’ve got, a fly on my foot, the sky hung with intermittent starlight; a distant hum, near by like blood pumped; cars, cicada, city scum; glass reflects the room I’m in, holds me near/dear, returns my frown. I dream   of her.

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