Fiction - The Grey Area, Absinthe Literary Review
 

3x3 Poetics
by
K.R. Copeland, Gary Cozine, and Christine Hamm
  

Salvador Dali Redoes American Gothic
by K.R. Copeland

The farmer and his daughter morph
become one with the pitchfork, then pour
into a puddle of black ants.

To their right, a clock-eyed chicken
dangles from a line of twine,
an egg-hatched man half-stands on the left side.

And in the rear, a great gray cock
atop the farmerís white house
sodomizes circles in the sky.


© 2003 K.R. Copeland
(Previously published in Mipo)

 

 

Marie Antoinette
by Gary Cozine

 

The bakery
All glass and light
Awaits us at the end of the day

We point with trembling fingers
Until the sleepy lady
Cradles a full bag

As a final indulgence
We peer into the basket
That sits atop the counter

It is filled with colossal slabs of wedding cake
Sliced, chopped, severed, hacked and wrapped in plastic
After waiting unclaimed by mothers-in-law

We greedily root around
Searching for the biggest pieces
Weighing, eyeing, measuring

The ones with the most frosting
Or letters of the brideís name
Most coveted

We fill our bellies with carved up dreams
Never realizing we are masticating someone elseís sorrow
Their broken promises our sustenance


© 2003 Gary Cozine

 

 

 

Joy School

(for Joseph Cornell)
by Christine Hamm

 

Why is it that when people speak of joy
or paint its substance,
the canvas is a vast
blue sky or an acre of snow,
broken
maybe by a few black boughs.

My joy teaches me small:
tiny and dark with delicate moving parts
in the shadows,
like the ripple of a salmon gill
under the river
or a small vintage machine
with obscure purpose and
gears whirring.

My joy is not made in the huge
bright handclap of God.
It is made by tiny mice paws
in the mud. It is made of straw
and teeth,
with a few
white
feathers.

 

© 2003 Christine Hamm

 

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