of sun and sand


the paper

that i’ve

ceased to

write upon






precisely real


loud outburst

save it

keep the story

below the surface


without compromise

without exception

absorbing the sounds of

half-finished voice


bouquets of stems

no false faces

no road

no trees

the everlasting new


another round of

ready, set, go

another round

that melts right into

the beginning

of mirror’s words

another round of measure

spoken with softer lips


labeled storage boxes

of sun and sand

a little black dress, dry cleaned

dancing around the face of a clock


dry winter hands

clever eye spots a

poor man’s art

decidedly building

on the decided


one egg beaten

one in the pan

four in the carton kept cold


when all was said and done

it left you

with better tolerance

didn’t it, allen?

me too


by mary ann blinkhorn