Fall 2010

Table of Contents - Vol. VI, No. 3


Poetry    Fiction    Reviews   

May Kuroiwa


God is Lucky

Kate rolls in their bed
moaning about
muscle and sky and stone.

Brian already misses his wife.
Eyes bruised
he sits his watch.

Her body devours itself.
Soon that bag
emptied of poetry, will collapse.

What is justice? Where is mercy?
God is not love
He eats His own.

But Kate relies on the Bastard
so I must speak of
other things.

Of Solomon's Songs
sung to please Heaven
and the glories of Genesis.

She smiles and thanks me
for reading, while worms
work under her skin.

I return to my desk
and stack pebbles
but my sling is too short!


© May Kuroiwa



Poetry    Fiction    Reviews   

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