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Our journal is no more. Here's a final poem:
tales of clarity
We tranqed the lion when
Autumn required this of us.
We spanked the music over and over.
We poured from Spanish china.
No humans knew or cared:
Delivery was the distraction
From expectation, from impurity,
From fulfillment of message
Or desire. It’s fully baroque
You see, this method of location.
Her language spread out over the
Frosted landscape, without touching,
So pregnant was the respiration.
Something could be perfect.
This is no mythology or religion
You say, and I agree; we utilize
Coin operated TV’s in the flimsy
Afternoon station light,
We speak and remember, we
Ascertain. We decide again.
-- Pete Zeller
