ABOUT

CONTENTS

EDITORIAL

ARCHIVE

LAGNIAPPE

MAST

SUBMISSIONS

 
TWO POEMS
by Tony Lacavero

Babies

When they arrived, any meaningful differences among them, as simple as we
were, escaped us. They only whirled into a soft chromatic fleshy collective.

Some smiled with a few kernels of feed corn for teeth. Others were like
little stones fresh out of the stream. A few had ears folded over like
figs as if to hear only sweetness from the fields.

Still more came forward, rolling over each other at such a rate that some
minor civilizations collapsed and sank quickly into the annals of extinction.

Someone suggested herding them into the valley and we did, until the valley
gave way, our houses rent from the land and only a few landmarks told
anyone that, once, we lived here.

And they were crying. They were always crying.



No Not to Yet   Again

No not to yet again
already and so far
difficult to be in
that state too aware
of starting, a going

but a going shared,
grown as to thin

and going as to where
the going got him
again to the bare
and to the thin
not a thinness cared

for but only to begin
and in the begun, that air.