October 2012 | back-issues, poetry
Even now, as my fingers
Turn incised in time,
As my eyes fall upon
The dusting of artificial
Sweetener some careless
Hand forgot, I wonder
On the involute silence
Of empty space.
A never
Silent silence. Bespotted
Always with the stigmata
Of an omnipresent hum.
This hum is not unlike
The hum of industry
But for its source— its source
Lies hidden deep in the earth,
Or perhaps it originates
In my very skull.
This hum, this ceaseless
Murmuring, I think at times
To be existence itself
Sighing without end.
From here I can almost see
The opening doors and feet
And hands descending like
Locusts. Foreknowledge needs
Not prophesy. And I hear,
Now as then, the lingering hum
Deafening always and louder
Only in silence.
by Dan Pizappi
October 2012 | back-issues, poetry
The human voice,
a peculiar instrument
badly played by most
can produce beauty,
making us wonder
why so many
assault fragile ears.
by Gary Beck
October 2012 | back-issues, poetry
You need not fear the cold much longer;
the seasons of the world are changing,
they are structures collapsing
and will be gone by midnight
as if by tidal wave.
You see, the walls keeping things apart,
they won’t hold much longer.
Soon the sun will come to warm our bodies
ceaselessly year-round,
thus causing oceans of missed pleasure
to announce their presence
greeting us
tasting of winter
and smelling of soap.
They’ll begin by kissing our necks and nipples
and lap and lap against the shore,
returning ever steadily–
and yet, between sun and burning sand
there is space unlimited to grow.
by Jessica Lieberman
Jessica is currently studying poetry at Kenyon College. She has studied under Daniel Mark Epstein, Thomas Hawks, and Jennifer Clarvoe. She works as an intern for the Kenyon Review.
