Poetry Issue 13

   Issue # 13 : January - March 2011

Jose Perez Beduya


      How moving
      Away from pure sound
      We fade into our ox and plow
      Such a fever in our new
      And perplexing life
      The roads
      And our lungs are bad
      Finitude splices
      Each of us to each of us
      In the many shops
      All closing at this hour
      Tomorrow will be discounted
      And another translucent
      Layer will be revealed
      To be viewed
      From different towers
      And yet will we finally lose our edges
      In rows we are still
      Suspended by our cameras
      The background runs through us
      We speak
      To our photo-objects
      We must mass-produce
      Mirrors to stay who we are