After the rain routed us,
after crouching in stoops
with bums and trisexuals—
high on air and cascades,
mangling English and
French— we found the café
and pots of wine and
the time to kiss came
and we did and you hid
with your lips and wet
maps; and the wine tipped
in its white plastic cup,
and the man on the bike
we saw climbing the cloud-
shrouded mountain sails
head over wheels, unbrok-
en, unbruised; and whatever
you dabbed on my cheeks
in broad lines remains;
and in the rain's pulse
something still sings.
-
Issue 59
-
Editor's Note
-
Poetry
- Crystal Bacon
- Sharon Bentley
- Chana Bloch
- Charlie C Clark
- Philip Dacey
- Chard DeNiord
- Christine DeSimone
- Paul Doty
- Alan Feldman
- Doris Ferleger
- Jessica Greenbaum
- Jose Luis Gutierrez
- Tom Laverty
- Mike Lewis-Beck
- Maureen McLane
- Kirk Nesset
- Lalita Noronha
- John S. O'Connor
- Justin Runge
- Cait Weiss
- Ivan Young
-
Fiction
-
Book Review
- David Rigsbee reviews Inventing Constellations
by Al Maginnes
- David Rigsbee reviews Inventing Constellations


