Proving Ground
    C. J. Sage
She wanted the dirt
beneath her bed
to be firm
and prolific.
He pulled out
the bedframe
for proof.
They crashed
to a cold,
steady floor.
There were no cries,
but the next day
they counted bruises
where their fingertips
had tried to turn
the blankets.

How to Tell a God

    C. J. Sage
He knows what he wants when he sees her
from her sister's bed;
he wants a shot at the other spread, wants to plant himself
headlong into new springs.
He won't stop with one good box
when there's another,
a fresh one over there, barely a generation's length away.
Isn't that what legends teach?--
the lesser god, persuaded by a young vision,
drifts like loose down,
is lulled with camel thirst to an endless well, and falls
mouth-first into an oasis.
He wakes up in an old children's book, fingering the pictures
of empty shoes till someone flips the page.

C. J. Sage’s work has appeared (or is forthcoming) in many magazines as diverse as The Threepenny Review and Samsara Quarterly. C. J. is the Managing Editor of Disquieting Muses Magazine.


In Posse: Potentially, might be ...