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vriter contemplates tHe mystery of tire universe.
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LuChi
doubts are green sometimes as if fields of clover
d and shifting past. Red shoots bury through until yel-
eces break and fall into a black velvet when they hurt,
in and wisps of lavender moan. Purple thunder. A grey
comes from the center edges fraying, reminding of
Anne’s lace and then seeps back into and disappears,
from nowhere silver edges not unlike and gold that curls
ack again.
ic washes clean and over and under bringing back the
ide. Orange from a sunset comes open wide. The friends
liars of gratitude dressed with those sharp peieces but
itil tissue pink is trampled into the rain sadly too much
iper butterflies. Mention that they were all once brothers
meone takes them inside each time. A round entrance
un here with black again.
nnot really forget about a white bear not thought of. No
?ason just a bear. Over and over bright cold and clear,
ig is ever bluish or reddish. Just like the younger things
ev er saw frail yellow. That miserable yellow that begs to
e with grey and grey bleeding and ruining the softness of
r of the whole of eveiything of all thought of velvet black.
moving in stereo
Richard V. McLamore
God...?
speak to me...!
as I lap across the floor,
impulsing in time,
after time across deepened gulfs,
my calls flow’ softly into a Jungelland
I see caught in transparent oblivion,
folding gently, a w ake up call to a friend
and acquaintance creeping into Seeing—
I can’t speak of truffles
or trifles on an empty stomach —
indw ell, speak, counsel,
w hat blue light flashes from my window on the w orld?
outside a lightstream I wait,
I see reds and I look
somewhere in the night I look for soft dreams
she’s left her doorway, I’m still in the
room,
singing aimlessly groaning silently::
...as the pen scriffs by-
marking paper’s flesh
transmuting soul onto pulp,
washing adagio across my mind,
legato outlook, unison fifth minor sev enth harmony,
vague consoling clashing conversation
vapors through my mind,
an eternal visitor unnameable
love, spirit, allways by the chair at the floor lie I
winds sigh outside friction noise currents
clacking leaves pastel overtures of wind
ink on page ink on page
blueflashing mindpicture
friend snoring, girl now sleeping
accidental
a speaker of peace vibrator of spirit
lucent signs melt to a bluewhite glow
a message from somewhere?
a message an answer
vainly searching after time
for a watch in the dark so I can go home,
bittersweet harmony, joy in minor
washing pastel across me;
heart through body,
watch always with me, ticking time rubato,
ostinato murmuring unconscious vibrations
not mechanical
a speaker of peace.
• Richard V. McLamore, 21, a junior English major from Ft.
Worth.
“It means what it says it means. It’s about watching MTV
at 3 o ’clock in the morning with your best friend and seeing a
Cindy Lauper video. It said, ‘Write me.’ It became a little
plaything. I spent about a year on it.”
i P. Cain, 23, a graduate English student from “several conti-
ie poem means a lot to me and I’ll let everyone else decide what
ns to them. Art is more for the sake of beauty than for anything
Pasar Burung
(Bird Market)
EricJ. Polzer
Enter the twilight
aisles, swimming in
exotic perfume.
Gaily dressed dancers
dash in flurried
choreography, twirling
orange, green,
red blurs moving
to an orchestra
of high pitched
cheeping, razor
sharp w histles, each
raised to drown
the others, but
the w hite, yellow’
crowned fat lady
squaw ks her opera
above all, a still
majesty amongst
the madness.
Then look into
the black-hole
eyes of the white owi,
silent sanity sucking
eveiything through
his pupils
and suddenly the
air smells like
shit, the cages are
filled with panic
and the songs
are anguished pleas
for freedom and light.
• EricJ. Polzer, 23, senior
English major from Ja
karta, Indonesia.
“We used to go down to
the bird market and it
was kind of a different
thing to see. I really like
Indonesia and it just felt
like I had to put some im
pressions down.”
Untitled
j
Marc A. Sommer
Our moon
sings such lush electro
:balloon
rub, shards of rainbow
so soon
intimate innerglow
in ruin:
sunrise paints a painbow
• Marc Sommer, 19, a fresh
man biological engineering
majorfrom Minnesota.
“I was alone in my room
one night and imagined my
self outside walking around
in the dark — what it really
feels like emotionally, not
just physically.”