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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 7, Number 1, March 2013


Stanley Pelter
Claypole, Lincolnshire, U.K.


both our explorative memories crack like walnuts hit with a toy hammer. our fluids flow out of each solid nook, each wet cranny, until only faint shadows remain.

moon dwindles
and sparse stars halo
our white hearts
at last pass over
another sad occurrence

all in all it is a dark place to explore. even though not their metier to enforce excitements, with orthodox forebodings, somewhere beyond beginnings, they begin.

eyes open
as wide as wide can be
hung out to dry
an innocent smile
loses merit

enter a dusk lit door left ajar by a less than observant sunset. failed to take into account differences made by red coloured mirror-shift distortions.

in that other life
dreams fade into dust
even inside this cold night
pleasure maps
are woven

it remains winter; one that whitens breast whiteness into a discomfort, make floppy cloud greyness. her dripping underclothes sag, lag behind a desire to tear them into shreds, let them fly through a sudden dustbowl wind.

cordon bleu colours
of childhood friend
now with mottled skin
sheen black of star covered stockings
too stark a contrast

inside a trough of an ebb tide sunwave, his raven black hair appears solid. i rebuild Raphael, research Michelangelo's back, study studies of Leonardo studying, watch my fading, see into her as a professional with breasts all aglow that once were my undoing.

canvas is slashed
into an open wound
she prepares to stitch it
with viscous paint
thinned into a blood glaze

now, explorations near complete, in a final whiff of rehearsed "self-expression," we cast adrift to float (through ancient erotic wavelets, end ov whitch is to drown). heare, there is an unwaved peace that fcils to even reacx aginst provOcation.

often a blunder
follows those others
yet today
phinishes like them all
in darcknes



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