ISSN 1551-8086
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  August 2008
volume 6 number 2
-table of contents-
  home   (archived)
  contributing poets
  Zack Anderson
  Lori Anderson-Moseman
  Hakim Bellamy
  Ralph-Michael Chiaia
  Benjamin Crowley
  Iris Dan
  Clint Frakes
  Ulrike Gerbig
  Rhoda Greenstone
  Kenneth Gurney
  Thea Iberall
  Marie Lecrivain
  Laura LeHew
  Jessica Lopez
  David McLean
  A.J. Morelli
  Dave Nordling
  Shannon Prince
  Brian Redfern
  Peter Schwartz
  Sondra L. Scott
  Anthony Seidman
  Oleg Semonov
  Bruce Stirling
  The Unarmed Man
  Wanda Vanhoy Smith
  Martin Willitts, Jr
  Seth Woolf
  Julie Yi
  mailing list
Kenneth Gurney
August 2008



    Kenneth P. Gurney is the crazy gypsy, Euro-mutt who produces Origami Condom and purchases surreal-estate with his leftover pocket change at the end of the day. His poems show up in a wide range of publications on the web and in print. His temporal existence is now in Albuquerque, NM.




You are white swan feathers,
Friday’s milk, bones in the desert.

Each time I kiss you, deliberately,
I watch my hands knead your clay.

The center of the restless river
reaches the parable place,

washes the soil away to reveal
the supporting stone, your grave

body under the weight of words
spoken by an innocent tongue.

I pull you between my legs,
kiss your breathless life,

watch all the small stones abandon
the flower bed, the soles of my shoes.

I put my hands into your body,
dig through skin, flesh, reach bone,

reach the flow of the river,
your image that still lives underwater.

I kiss you, feather breath expelled,
swan woman, snowy white,

my desert bones dry out all thought
of water, of waiting out this bright sorrow,

this silence of cross nails and stones.
Abandon the sweet away. Come,

enjoy the Friday milk, leave all traces
of the river to the lake.

copyright 2007 Kenneth Gurney