Winter 1963
Twenty-Five Cents
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ON RUTH
MILOFSKY'S
SCULPTURE
"DEAD BIRD"
bird
had
on mad back
neck broke
beak battered
bent breast unfeathered
whether stiff
or laugh-like
life lies
dies in wire
wing wilts
while claws clutch
such clawing air
hear
-- Barbara Gibson
[Back
Cover]
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THE MOST
PECULIAR
PERVERSION
like
a hog devouring peach pits
moves the gold hand on my watch
death sprouts in columns from the floors
and topples from the walls
the bucket fills and leaks some more
we make the grins of ghouls
our feet wear out, we walk on bones
and imitate what never was
the race of dying fools.
--
Mike Zetteler
|
Man IV
by
Mary Lou Higgins
Illustration
for
Gas
for Less, Cheshire,
Winter 1962
|
THAW
by
Mike Zetteler
The
melting night
a rippling sound
sewers' black gratings
suck covers
from the ground
Bark
of trees black
against gray sky
Japanese brush painting
with ink not yet dry
The Girl with No
Hair on Her Chest
I
know her words,
they looked so knowingly
With tongue in ear
whisper, whisper.
I
know her sophistication,
not quite verbal,
never yet oral
With lips around a pacifier
nibble, nibble.
I
know her cosmetics,
pink Ponds lotion,
but no Vaseline
With fingers up a wet nose
dribble, dribble.
I
know her sincerity,
it winked with a smile
And footsteps
stumbling over the doorstep
come in, come in
-- LOUISE MARIE TESMER
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PROSPECTUSCOPE
We
shall want
little more
-- once we have learned --
than this transience,
and will delight
to stop the kaleidoscope
for, say, an hour or so. No more.
(Cool collage of crazy colors,
of dubious value to touch).
Like
gyroscopes will we be,
making pretty patterns
in the air
as we go constant, non-resistant
to comment on the non-existent
watching us
through the tube of crazy mirrors;
and we looking through our telescopes
backward to Valhalla, hall of mirrors
will be too near-sighted
from straining at the microscope
to smell the death --
wishful thinking
of our late-swinging battles
of wind-in-the mills.
And
when the smoke clears
we will go out again
into coming-up sun
and early morning silence
of loose drum-skins,
light our cigarettes,
and gag with joy.
-- JEANNE SCHEELER
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