Issue 13, November 1997
Rochelle Randel - Two Poems

I don't think I see this
Satellite image.
This blurry mass,
You say it's stars, a galaxy?
Possible life out there?
I most certainly hope
For life out there.
Being there be none here.

Weaving through the crowd,
A drunken boy - he way high, man.
Way high.
He want girl and woo her,
By rolling one eye,
One way,
the other eye,
Somewhere else.
Wide smiles at sky,
At ground,
Even directed to girl
sometime,
Like teeth beacon.
She also high,
Gone.
Seeing no burdens
to her pain.
She see only boy,
She not see future,
Or even present,
together,
They sink,
Sink into ground,
Into crowd,
Into earth,
waking later,
and later.