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 Aug 2012 Karen Ina
Birdonthewire
River parts it through the middle
Valley-town,
no spark you kindle

Mirror-faces, motionless
spying minds under tolerance-dress

Of the bridges,
I count three
cross the bridge,
but they can't see

Category,discipline,
bend and break - to fit in,

this is Mirror-Tyranny.

Sing-song people flock like sheep,
conformity-vows you must keep,

You Valley-town, you Valley-people.

I put a mirror to your face,
perhaps you'll see this is the case;

Climb the hill and have a peek,
there's more of us,
who do not speak,
the Mirror-Tongue of 'I-means-we',
You Valley-people are not free.

Oh beer-brewing town,
grey and timely,
beer-foam people sting us kindly,

Unity-violence leaves no scar,
but we know what,
you really are.

Blessed oil-children
your wealth is new,
years of culture, you have but few.

Divided and numbered,
1-2-3,
disciplined apathy,
mimics Civility.

Watch us close, expect a hit,
but battle-sparks among you are lit
Bah-bah sheep, and cows that moo,
look around - the wolf's one of you.


He's the third, waiting are more,
writing manifests of calls to War.

Valley-people, asking how,
numbing rythm has to bow,
Hillside people are watching You now.

Hold your roses high for your Father,
but Valley-people,
perhaps now you see?
You are not so kind, so pure, so free.
 Jun 2012 Karen Ina
Aaron Kerman
He held radical light
to moon’s somber stare;
Night’s bright
diminished-

Taking backseat in a cab
heading polar;
Up north and downtown.
Somewhere dark.

He breathed cold brilliance in;
Addict’s winter;
snow filled air

Yielding melodies
to dense beats.
Music stopped;

Time raced…
Erased.

He spoke hard liquid
through wide eyes;
Tongue flailing,
Mouth jawing,
Body failing,

To wet ground.

He heard color flash;
Blue,
        Red,
Blue,
White,
            Red,
    Blue,­
                        White,
Red,
                        Whit­e.

           White.

White.

He felt silence enter.

White.

White.

Black.


He held radical light.
 Jun 2012 Karen Ina
Becca Grace
you feel them on the back of your head
they slowly peer down his arm,
out his fingertips,
to your hips

you feel them,
suddenly piercing,
like an arrow slowly tearing through each layer of skin,
as your lips collide with his
soft, so soft,
compared to the stabbing on your back

his hands trace along your side and you’re burning
you know the eyes can see
you pull away,
the fire becoming too excruciating
you feel the grip that the eyes have around you start to loosen

his hand glides to yours and suddenly the whispers begin
little words screamed into your ears
little words that are said so softly,
but you swear they could make you deaf

his hand feels so heavy,
like a rock pulling you to the ocean floor
the sinking and
the burning and
the screaming becomes too much
if you hold his hand long enough,
you’re sure,
you will burst into pieces

— The End —