"Here the prize was copper which melts but does not burn..."

More Perihelion:

Bob Sward's Writer's Friendship Series

Book Reviews

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Issue 11: The Necessary Eye

Issue 10: Out on a Limb

Issue 9: The Missing Body

Issue 8: The Lily

Issue 7: Passages

Issue 6: No More Tears

A quick list to poets featured in this issue:

Melissa Ahart

Sommer Browning

Sarah Busse

devin wayne davis

Karen D'Amato

Yaakov Fichman

Donna Johnson

Vera Kroms

Li Bo

Li Qingzhao

Ander Monson

Christopher Mulrooney


Todd Samuelson

Maria Terrone

Mihai Ursachi

Sophie Wadsworth

G.C. Waldrep

Martha Zweig

G. C. Waldrep


Shaft-mouth one is aware of that drawing, gut-clench in which presence
         at the lip implies presence at a greater depth, therefore velocity

With its spectral shift, lush green of periwinkle and honeysuckle
        running down to black against red clay, infinitesimal Doppler
        modulation of the bees that descend

In search of one more sucrose extrusion. We see: iron bedstead, ragged
        upholstery of a couch snagged where the first lateral tunnel

Recapitulated this dispensation in terms of earth and ore. Appliance
        skeletons. Not a stable place, one picks one's way

Through briars and scrub elm with care as if a heavy tread could
        dislodge some internal synchronicity, the way it did once at New
        Straitsville, the miners free in that moment

To see their earth on fire; or at Centralia, the surface withdrawing like
        the shoreline of a dead sea, pulling

More tightly in upon itself in smoking temblors. Here the prize was
        copper which melts but does not burn, and for a few years only–

No town, company shacks long ago collapsed into punk-board or else
        carted off for timber. Sun-dapple, drone of the bees as they rise
        and fall

And rise again, programmed toward hidden hives. What we would call
        a quiet place. Sweat-itch at collar and sole:

No one goes there, said the woman at the end of the road, except they
        have something they want to get rid of. Not affective in the same
        sense; a scandent

Twilight. Lifting sweetness this time from a single string. And the
        forms more various. Licit we should come so far.