PUPPET SHOW

Aging, half-faced shells of life glide past themselves down dark corridors... in search of the bright... ... and nighttime truths. Chopping, they cut and cruelly shove to the top of the bottom... ... oh, the search sends them back...

to fall behind themselves while wondering,

'My God, what went wrong?!'

We pour ourselves candy-coated and flashy, outside our skin and wonder why others are blind

to our inner beauty! It's the meager and

anguished cry of help that loses us

in the void and obliviated space of lonliness . . .

Death, however, brings us birth and...

... only when the shell we protect and spit polish nightly lies shattered into multitudes of disoriented particles, can our true and radiant spirit

4

cry the tears of awakening...ohl Hear the screams... please... the roar is deafening!

Christy Haynes

POETRY

THE GOOD HUMOR MAN

The Good Humor man had 14 suits

& when he'd take his pants off he'd frown and fold them neatly before jumping into my mouth.

The years melted away.

I began leaving wrinkles in his collars.

Once he came chocolate sprinkles. How that chilled the air!

So I sulked till he said

Sorry, my mind's on my work.

After that the nights were duller pineapple sauce or my breasts whipped cream under my arrns.

absent mindedly picking across

the dessert of my thoughts

i chance to find

a grain of sand

much coarser

than the others.

i examine it with full intent

to derrive a special connotation. . . but arrive at the same dull conclusion: it merely drifted there from someone else's mind.

I feel compelled to let you know

Tonight, such pleasure, relexed and free; Such libereting laughter!

Smiles clinging after our parting,

A bit of sadness for seeing the tears in your eyes At our goodbye.

Feeling slightly guilty for my cruel silence, The burden I refused to carry.

Placing other heaviness on you was my exoneration;

Excusing my own irresponsibility, freeing myself

From what I assumed to be an unbearable burden Then.

Now looking back;

Other times, other people;

l'always coped quite well.

So important then!

Unaccepting, I voided my suffering,

Revenged unmercifully, compensating you For your presumed folly.

Now, my friend, filled with warmth, Grieving for lost moments of sharing. Thankful for an unjustifiable forgiveness.

F.

p.a. griffin

my hope rests in my arms

but they are disconnected from my shoulders that isn't so bad

but my fingers are disconnected from my hands my hands from my wrists

my sun from its sky

my love from my heart

my spirit from my mind.

i try to replace myself...... i really do

but it is a fact that i am scattered everywhere.

my eye, also disconnected from its socket wanders aimlessly over discarded documents and my right index finger tries to place that one word that can maybe help... or at least define the reasons for my appeal to the senses.

oh somewhere in this aging galaxy

my ears do seek out some sordid murmur from demons that bid me draw my last... but the young boy who returned my nose, only last friday,

insists there are angels to be had

for the total sum of retribution, including car fare.

it is amazing though,

the way my elbow rolls along the kitchen floor and my left foot, feeling whimsical,

kicks it down the fire escape.

i suppose the landlady will consider it droll

and discard the thing once and for all

but i have another one here...

somewhere.

and yet, for all that never seems to come together,

my mouth still functions well.

in fact, it won't shut up.

if i could find a tooth or two

i'd bite my lip.

there's only one thing to

there's only one thing left to do:

sit back and relax.

but even that presents a minor problem... you see, i have absolutely no idea where i misplaced my ass.

p.a. griffin

When he got out the cherries I knew we were done,

So I tried to stay in the sun

but he followed me in that damn truck

playing All You Need Is Love on the chimes.

And I had to scrub at the milk rings

until my skin was in shreds.

He offered tutti-frutti & raged at my lack of appetite

but I finally got away

الله

pretending to climb in a passing postman's bag. He didn't understand that I needed no stamps

I just didn't want desert anymore.

W.O. W. (Words Of Wisdom)

You are what you create.

You have to be who you are because you'll only be you as long as you live, and you're not going to to live forever!

If you looked at me and all you could see was my outside, I'd Say, you didn't really see me.

If you heard my voice and couldn't repeat a word I said, Then I'd know you weren't listening.

If I gave you my hand and all you felt was my flesh, I'd give Up, because we couldn't communicate.

Clare Neff

page 6/What She Wants/September 1974

Rita Lynn Hawkins