Meg Schoerke

Judith Salerno

Steve Halasz

David Richardson

Sally Hand

Candy Shue

David Livingstone Fore

Susanna Rich

Paul Hamill

Elisabeth Murawski
FOLLY
“Stockholm Syndrome”

For X

help me up when you hear me behind you falling all
over the place*

Had I not misplaced my eyes, maybe
I could see this Corpus Mei,
Had I not scooped my brains, like cold ice creams,
I could sense these strengths of works,
This stretch of words,
Like Ella knew to trust her voice to find the sublime
In a dropped note or a well-timed sigh.

Please, sir, can you teach me to see?

I desire to grasp this invisible talent,
What you confidently claim to see,
“Like a cow in your bed,” you say
These so-called mysteries of me,
Stranger than that sorry Corpus Christi
Or his theoretical anatomy.

Please, sir, I need to believe.

So, in a bedroom with no door
You pound my head like Thor
Extolling my life, my worth, my flesh
Till this gash of mesh opens like a lily
Allowing in the flash of belief,
As warm as whiskey, and I understand
Like Ms. Patty Hearst or some induced birth.

You found me stuck in the cellar of life
You flooded it with light,
You pulled me up the stairs
Out into the world.
And for once,
I trust.

David Richardson

*Lines from songwriter Kristin Hersh.
Time Sink

It’s no big squeal,
oh rock in my shoe,
chocolate credit cards
melting in my pocket.
Snow-blind, buzzing,
I trip over a hunch
in the carpet,
bite my tongue.
The call of the sieve
so strong; an overtow
purling me under. Chop
my mouse hand off; please,
save me.

Candy Shue