rails ascend into gray pneumonic sky

but infinity is not allowed,

cars rush to fall off the edge of sight,

the wind chants with keening gulls

above the bay slap, chopping, cutting at the base,


rip my head clear,

carve yesterday on a stone thrown

to plunge down half seen

and then gone in the sea-haze

before the concrete ribbon hits the hills


I peer seeing sky sheets tossed used and wet

and her skin rising, falling,

her Judas breath trapped by the rhythm

of the pillars stiff over the green estuary,

the thrall broken by sun’s late-day fire


as the nav commands

turn to Paradise Drive,

there the white tablecloth is gilded,

the blooded wine arrives for fugue-rites,

I drink, trading masters,


I swallow to cross to another land.


by Bruce Bagnell


After Bruce Bagnell received his bachelor’s in English from Fairleigh Dickinson University, he went on to earn his master’s from John F. Kennedy University. Throughout the years Bruce has worked as a cook, mechanic, and college professor; held various management positions; and was a USAF captain in Vietnam. Now retired, he focuses wholeheartedly on his writing and has been published in Zone 3, Westview, OmniVerse, The Scribbler, The Round, Blue Lake Review, Crack the Spine, The Griffin, Oxford Magazine, The Alembic, Studio One, and several online magazines. Bruce is a member of the Bay Area Poets Coalition and has twice been awarded honorable mention in their Maggi H. Meyer Memorial Poetry Contest.


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