from Spring 2005 [Issue No. 6]


C. L. Bledsoe




Morning comes and we rise so vile

our spleens would burst

if we didn't empty them on traffic.

I go for breakfast and instead of working watch

old sci-fi movies on TV: The First Spaceship On Venus,

where thereís nothing but shadows,

and Voyage to the Prehistoric Planet,

where the dinosaurs live, 

and a robot named John calls his masterís name

as he dies.

She goes to work and I donít ask why.



Some part of me is draining out of my ears

while I sleep, either I or she

is a witch; stealing her/my soul to crumble up

in my/her tea.

Thereís a cold wind

that blows across the hairs of my neck

whenever she turns on primetime TV.

Sheís taken to crying

whenever I crack a copy of Coleridge.



Afternoons after Iím done for the day I sneak

into a pinhole and think

of all the women IĎve seen, the cars, the houses

Iíll never afford. People will watch me like a thief

if I go to the store for cake.

If some part of me is worth seeing,

youíll have to dig under the sugar and cheese.



It takes a special concentration

to be allowed to enjoy a meal alone.

Strength is in the forehead.

A man can slit his belly open

with a rusty smile, if it means being right. Anything,

anything Iíll ever owe just to know quiet.

Anything Iíll ever be

to burn every trace of pride off me.



Return to Table of Contents


All content on this site is protected by copyright laws. Unauthorized use of any material, graphic or literary, is strictly prohibited.  All work © by the artists: all rights reserved.

Final Issue | Archives | Who We Were | About our Motto | Books We Love | Submission Guidelines | Reviews of Online Lit | Links | E-Mail