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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
 
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A.J. Morelli
August 2008
   

 

bio


art by julian ellis

    Albert Morelli lives and writes in New York City. Frequently seen performing spoken word throughout the city in the 90's, he is now devoting less time to performance pieces and more to writing for the page.
more5600@gmail.com

   

 

paraffin

there was a moment
        small
        and fleeting

a temporary space

shape shifted
        like paraffin
            in heat

new forms found

            pliable

            in fingers grasped
            but not held


the people upstairs
            cursed
            each other
    in women's voices

"leave me the hell alone!"

        then
    a thud
and more screaming


the window's drawn curtain
    concealed the gray

    of morning turning
            ever brighter shades


the clock showed

        5:02 AM

    but i didn't care
            about time


had too much of
    it
already


            pockets
            stuffed with minutes

            closet doors
            stressed their hinges
            holding back accumulated hours


        the cat cried
            to be fed

        the clock apologized
            for all
            that's been lost

        the guitar leaned nervously
            against the desk
            hollow and tightly strung


i rolled over

    assumed
        a position
            resembling sleep


there was a moment
    small
    and fleeting

    between battle cries
    and ball scores

    beyond what's never said
    on the 6 o'clock news

a tiny sparkled glimmer

    lying

        beneath

            a city moon


    some kind of magic


a masturbatory fantasy
        too pure for
the pages of vanity fair


    allowed myself
        to believe
        just once more


    but
    like lightning
    sharp and beautiful

    it filled the room
    quick
and was gone


    leaving only
        the perfect circle
            of bruise


outside
    the homeless
        sifted
    through a dead man's pile
    in the warmth of spring


            i watched them
through the rain stained window

and wondered

        if they had felt it too

copyright 2006 A.J. Morelli