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An international online magazine that publishes Surrealist poetry in English.

Issue Three



Bleary-Eyed Excitement in Two Guns, AZ with René Magritte

It's briefly rife with your La vie en rose,
but then an elf comes rustling elk. He knows
my name is Happiness, my country is
your heart, my parents are a rusty rose,

the wind and eastern sky. No biggie. NASA
can't say it gave our hearts head starts or Casa-
nova's an alien who'll take me back,
but what about Mi casa es su casa?

In various stages of undress, the daytime
proves 'The house always wins,' and not just data
in ghost towns. Reading like a wrecking ball,
for perfect truthfulness, it's not like Dayton

when the Wright Brothers left. Inaction's lemon
has many uses, naturally. Filet mign-
on – with no love for hoes – of fixer uppers,
we see Two Guns and vivisect le monde.

A better terrible, its distant source
is permanently true as bricks. Divorce
a fact from usefulness. On Pluto, like
in Flagstaff, mountains part with intercourse.

Notes for a Fragmented Fugue on the Female Hand, Thumb and All

Foreign, it guides me to intrigue and Greek informality.
Five alabaster eels that feel
like steel and form a
loving cistern. Sister of distance,
lifeline to manual respect; when it flowers, more magnetic than

hours. A fluidly moonlit and mineral grip. In an
Egyptian mode; the
Queen of Heart's blood-greed. In Venus's glorious veins runs the
numberless blue of a name
used up. Hand, have you

visited my hand? You caress
what is out of reach,
grasp what is born. Blizzard-kisser; the days collapse, minutes fall,
and months collide; our clumsy,
starving and fingerless sun keeps on diving by, dreaming of

yawning. You achieve the eternal
achievement, surpassing the trouble of troubled times. Death and night
are playing dead on your
watch. Your palm's valley of countless eye-candles that blows out my

black purpose and shrugs;
how lovely and Hebrew. Bronze
Valentine, history's non-violent valet... Could my hand do that?
Yea, when a monkey has mermaid feet! Cold, prime, mysterious facts
you bonnet in blue bones.

Jake Sheff is a major and pediatrician in the US Air Force, and he currently resides in the Mojave Desert. His poems appeared in Radius, The Ekphrastic Review, The Brooklyn Review, The Cossack Review, etc. He won 1st place in the 2017 SFPA speculative poetry contest and was a finalist in the Rondeau Roundup's 2017 triolet contest. His chapbook titled Looting Versailles has been brought out by Alabaster Leaves Publishing.

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