On the wiry blue grass by the cold blue river,
with antique cheese and second-hand wine,
my mistress sits and bares herself to the sun.
As blue as a cheese that is rotten to its core.
As cold as the temperament of a salvaged
steel blade. All is river-worked, subtle and keen.
Water takes metal, reduces it to ferrous dolor.
Rusted plates express an accidental artistry
for those who have the eyes to see. For those
who prize the random, the tainted, the blemished.
Taking subtlety where you find it. Take your
evening stroll beneath the crumbling sky, and believe.
# # #
Paul Ilechko was born in England but has lived much of his life in the USA. He currently lives in Lambertville, NJ with his girlfriend and a cat. Paul has had poetry published and/or accepted recently by Third Wednesday, Sick Lit Magazine, Gloom Cupboard, MockingHeart Review and Slag Review, among others.
Photo credit: Dirk Dreyer www.dreyerpictures.com
Joy Mahar is an emergent writer living on the outskirts of Detroit. Her work has…
They received a much needed shower this morning: bare branches of trees, Fall's fallen crushed leaves,…
“Persephone is having sex in hell.” –“Persephone the Wanderer,” Louise Glück This isn’t hell, but…
“Again.” “Again.” “Again.” “Once more.” Her son slid down the wall onto the hallway floor.…
He told my Ma I was too young to know what a tumor felt like.…
“Don’t leave the backyard, Jodi!” “Okay, Mommy, I won’t!” That last conversation echoed in Sarah’s…
This website uses cookies.