SurVision Magazine
An international online magazine
that publishes Surrealist poetry in English.
Issue Eleven
ELIZABETH MORSE
On the Outskirts
Walking past stone pillars
you touch your forehead to water.
The coolness of staying in one place
takes the wonder of everything away.
You get used to it in small towns.
People forget what they did years ago,
pulling the hands off clocks,
the glass out of windows.
No forgiveness is good enough.
People you know don't really believe, anyway.
In the yard, a swimming pool inflates.
The dusty sleep of people living in the house
Is what you inhale at night.
Leaving here is what terrifies you.
What Doesn't Exist Always Haunts
Thunder devours the minutes,
snatches the hours.
The day ticks by.
Stars glow faintly afterwards,
tracking the millions.
I am spinning in their path,
lost gateway to the perpetual.
Is it like looking for gold?
What doesn't exist always haunts.
What we seek is a tireless moonscape,
treacherous dust, always counting,
Infusing time everywhere.
Elizabeth Morse lives in New York's
East Village. Her work has been published in Ginosko and Kestrel, as well as anthologies
such as Crimes of the Beats.
A poetry chapbook, The Future Is Now,
was published by Linear Arts Press.
