Over Th P. is

Poet's Corner

Your hair is like thick twine
Ropes of jute that lash-me

In your hollow gut

Your face is white and rough
Heavy like canvas
Above your hard body

And again | am cast adrift
From your shallow hull
With only a small piece of
To keep me afloat

you

On and on this story repeats
A mind wanders when faced with the infinite ocean
When all is horizon and water and wave

When the storms come and the ocean turns grey
! can no longer tell the sea from the sky

Except when one is wet and one is dry

And that happens so rarely in a storm

And storms happen so often on this ocean

From the crest | can see you gain ground
Like a voyageur rounding a bend

| am close to you and then | crash

Into the trough where there is no more sky

Kiss of

By: Davi Gamble
Dec. 20, 1998

| sat upon a chair on my
veranda, overlooking the city.
| was on the twenty-first floor
so people, cars, and every-
thing else seemed miniature.
There was a light, but cold
wind this night. | put a
sweater on over my t-shirt. It
was early fall. This was the
first chilly night and | almost
relished the change from the
sweltering heat of the sum-
mer.

| lay back looking at the stars
dreaming of the little things
that | missed since leaving

Death

my home in the country.

It was late quite past midnight
and yet it was not quiet. At
first the noise prevented my
sleep, but soon after | learned
to live with it. It wasn’t the
noise that prevented my
sleep this night; | never even
noticed it.

| could see a few stars | rec-
ognized and ! tried to find
constellations. | couldn't, but |
could always pick out a few in
the country; without the city
lights much is revealed.

My thoughts soon drifted to
an old sweetheart of mine. |
could remember sitting with
her, looking at the stars,

telling her that I'd love her as
long as the stars did shine. |
was drunk when | said this.
Under the circumstances it
would seem over romantic
and foolish. For | had met the
girl only a week earlier, but |
was in love. What can | say
though, | was only Sixteen.
We spent much time together
talking, walking, and just
hanging out. Her dark hair
and luscious lips turned most
men on.

Melting a great deal of them
like butter. Her eyes cold, but
intriguing. She was rather
attractive and very sassy.
Teenage love is weird or at

least it was for me. Every girl
who ever | went out with was
at that moment “the one” then
later the worst one.

| grabbed a beer from off the
table beside me. | tried to for-
get her, but it was nearly
impossible. She was hard to
forget. She was so alluring
and such a tease few dare
ask her out. She was mythi-
cal; later she’d only be a
beautiful woman, but in those
teenage years she was a
thing to be worshipped.

| went inside closing the slid-
ing door behind me. | walked

. into my room and grabbed

the withered and grotesque

flower from off the shelf. It
was always an ugly flower.
She gave it to me though, so
that made it special; | had
loved her greatly. It was all |
had ever gotten from her and
| cherished it despite its ugli-
ness, as if it were gold.

My eyes began to tear up, but
| held it in. | had cried enough
inside if not overtly. | left the
country to get rid of all that
hurt inside, but always when |
was alone it all came back.

| could never enjoy the city; it
was ‘hard to enjoy anything.
’'d go with friends to meet
women and they'd all look or
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