ISSN 1551-8086
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  May 2005
volume 3 number 2
-table of contents-
  home   (archived)
  contributing poets
  Aurora Antonovic
  Tom Berman
  Cristogianni Borsella
  Dana Campbell
  Tobi Cogswell
  Peggy Dobreer
  Francisco Dominguez
  Marvin Dorsey
  Melissa Fischer
  Steve Goldman
  Melanie Gonzalez
  Wendy Grosskopf
  Debashish Haar
  Matt Harris
  Paula Sfier Kattan
  Marie Lecrivain
  Laura A. Lionello
  Harold Lorin
  Christopher Mulrooney
  Dave Nordling
  Aire Celeste Norell
  Angel Perales
  Catherine Rajca
  Cat Risinger
  Ariel Robello
  Kate Soto
  Clee Villasor
  mailing list
Matt Harris
May 2005



photo by jerry hicks

    Matt Harris is completing an MA in English at the University of Auckland, New Zealand. He has most recently been published in Southern Ocean Review, and online journals Blackmail Press, Half Drunk Muse and Stylus Poetry Journal. He is currently writing a novel with the assistance of iconic New Zealand author Witi Ihimaera (The Whale Rider).
    For links to more of his work see:



Ends of Transportation

The laundered rags

outside the mechanics workshop

strung up like Tibetian prayer-flags

Would anyone think so?

Of course anyone would - there are certain

strands of likeness,

common threads, running between

the monks robes and the overalls of the mechanic:

It's just as hard to interrupt either man

when there he is, head down

humming to himself,

working out the nuts and bolts

of transience.

Are there sufficient connections

to get us from here to the next place?

Somebody, standing outside the human sciences building said,

"We're clotheslines, and every

experience we have in life is pegged to the line."

I didn't understand,

but nodded, like a toe-toe

in the wind.

"The more years behind you

the more dirty washing you have on the line,

the harder it all gets to sort out," they said.

Again, I nodded.

Reticence, silence, is often misconstrued

as a kind of inner death.

It's rarely understood,

except by sensitive tractor drivers,

going 30kph down the highway on

Friday afternoon of Labour weekend.

They know the unseen force of a row of cars,

(the trailer surrendering a piece of white cloth)

They know what it means to pull over

and let the others keep going.

copyright 2004 Matt Harris