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Poetry 3  Spring 2021




          by  Robert  Beveridge

the hall smells of tangerines,
a damned sight better than
the expected sweat from a sold-
out crowd. This could be put
down to the general lifelessness
of the butts in seats (they’re
zombies, not bored). What caused
this mass migration no one is
quite sure, but top scientists
study patterns (and try to figure
out where they got the admission
money) and I have naught to do
but put my own butt in my own
seat, fit a cello between my legs,
and see how well they like Telemann.


Bio: Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Red Coyote Review, Deep South Magazine, and Aromatica Poetica, among others.



Ice Breakup
      by  Bill Diamond
When trauma struck, Lily became an icebound river
The freeze was quick and the ice was thick.
She lost all traits of water
No longer clear or bubbly
Rather a grim and sullen silence
Within an off-putting chill envelope
Sans movement, flow or progress
She was clouded, impenetrable, lifeless
As a personal Winter began
All energy and light fled
If the breath of a spirit remained
It lay deep and buried
When rebirth comes, it’s often not from within
Rather transformed by a sunny outside warmth
Then the cycle evolves
The frozen crypt thins and cracks
The ice breakup crashes and flails
As her sharp bergs spread damage and fright
Finally, Lily sheds the frost
And emerges again to life
Bio: Bill Diamond lives in Colorado where the Rocky Mountains are both an inspiration and a distraction.  He writes to try and figure it all out.