Submissions by Annanias (Jon Z)

An I pit ma trust in masel.  An in the bruckle pouer o man, an the shog o his inwit (whather God pit baith o thir there...?).

Wi thir twa things, we can chynge the yird - whather in unco muckle weys, or juist in the raisin o weans tae leir tae luve amang aw the ill-will o the yird.

An God micht weil gie us the pouer an the inwit, bot it is wirsels wha wale whit we dae.  An hell is on wir ain heids alain.  God haes gien us enou hulp.  An a puckle wheen mair, gin we wad bot speir fer it.

An old man stands at the window
of a house that has seen better days.
The roof is leaky,
the walls have crumbled,
the boards are bald and bare.

The rain falls lightly
diluting the salt tears
diluting the crimson blood.
But there is always more

He glances at the room behind him
happy memories
forever gorgeous and light.

He dies with the new dawn in sight,
beneath the window where he was born.

a secret smile on his lips, his gaze forever strong.

softly
softly with your fingertips
sweetly
so sweetly with your eyes

slow controlled graces
so different from the rages
of sex come before
a burlesque fantasy

creaking leathers
and ruffled feathers
and lives lost for an instant
as the tongue brushes

feather light against sensitivities
yet scoring marks through
the passion of nails and teeth
straining against chainlinked bonds

through gritted teeth slide tortured sighs
and half forced exclamations
yet through it all
there is barely a movement
...

Madness is:
three man cubicle
cocaine expeditions
and lonely beds
on casino tables.
stitched up feet
burned out calves

Beauty is:
hotel haze muddying
light from faces
of clocks, 3 am
doe-eyed gazing.
fistfuls of snow
on dead tree branches

Frustration is:
8 o'clock awakenings
bursting stanzas
broken leads
and bleary eyes.
No more matches
under flickering lights