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Fall 2002 - Volume 25, Number 1
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lyle sumpter presents:
An end time coming,
A sedate you in the making,
Your prayers are all on hold,
And now this:
Jayhawk is a Strangefish of the finest order,
Walks down the street and is your neighbor-kin.
Say smiling: "Hey" and "How's it going?"
Leaks the third degree from every pore,
And teeth grinding mutters soft and low-
"I don't speak this language anymore."
With this, a discerning eye for you, dissected
From the corner of the corner of an eye and a room
Walks like beebop and skat, muttering,
"I think I knew, I wish I knew
When the passer-bys became my world,
Before they passed out of view."
"I have little space to me- by me, I mean not you.
I strain the world, searching out always
The certain I know not what -to see myself
Glancing off a pair eyes unkown."
A cup of nectar, hidden in those shaking palms
Is all the comfort of voices not his own.
Doesn't know why he showed you this,
Being none of anyone's dim affair
But stumbles on intentions and the like
Come a smile once or then, talking faster in the fall
And when it fades it goes like ice,
"I don't know when to quit is all."
"My name is Dry Toast and I love you,
Despite the foolish all of myself
Who ended up clutching his hands in rain.
I don't know, and I'm never sure-
And before I shame my face again
Close my eyes and shut the door."
-By Jesse Stanchak
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| Calendar |
Poetry and Prose Deadline!
Thu 10.30 // 05:00pm //
Please have your poetry and prose submitted to us by this date.
Art Deadline!
Sat 11.15 // 05:00pm //
Please have all art submissions to us by this date.
View the Calendar... |
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