I have long since disappeared from these places. Time speaks and all I have left is gone where meaningless gestures from strangers in a foreign land signify nothing, the circle once more revolving and unfolding 
the mysteries of sleep. And everything, macrocosm and microcosm, has merely become a dream. Dead sonnets 
and broken memories. Lost words and disintegrated photographs. Here they say it's easy to become "dust"
Tonight I have awakened you alone once more. I walked through you're house and you screamed, you're once 
beautiful brown hair now white with years, your heart still missing in all the wrong and familiar places. 
What are you now? 65? 70? You cursed me and swore that you would never let me in again. Was I supposed to be there? After all, you were the one who called me, and all I did was answer. So what's worse than a 
suicide? I know. To live day after day after day in the misery and pain that you created
For yourself.

~ R.M. Engelhardt 




Equilibrists lie here; stranger, tread light;
Close, but untouching in each other’s sight;
Mouldered the lips arid ashy the tall skull.
Let them lie perilous and beautiful.

~ John Crowe Ransom





In a famous painting
of Christ nailed to
and crucified upon the cross
I am the watching
leper on the right.
And with my one good eye
I watch as Jesus dies
and screams up into
darkening sky asking
his father for a reason


And then, suddenly
as the clouds open up
and the rain begins
the Romans scatter like mice,
the water, burning off their
flesh like corrosive acid.
As I feel the wetness upon my
skin like the warmth of a beautiful woman
touching my face, I raise my
hands outward, and I am healed.
When a voice comes
which tells me I am now
the angel of death, and the
watcher in the eternity
that is time, wandering
the earth.

The screams of both Jesus,
and his murderers the Romans
now a distant sound & memory
in a world without messiahs
or miracles to amaze us.
Only questions
which remain unanswered.



New Poem by Michele Battiste

A talented poet and an old friend. Check out her work here …

Black Lawrence Press News

BattisteA poem from Michele Battiste’s forthcoming collection, Uprising, is featured in the new issue of Midway Journal–it’s a lovely and evocative slice of this powerful book. (You should also check out Ink for an Odd Cartography, available here.)

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To The Last …


“Wisdom, you are the last to whom I turn. Not for your spear, fashioned in that same fire as all bright jealous objects of desire. But for your shield. Protect the least of us. Or lift me from this battlefield, and take me home.”


D. A. Powell, To Last.


“God is enthroned above the circle of the earth” ~ Isaiah 40:22

“Around thy orb the beauteous stars are hurled with rapid whirl” ~ Orphic Hymn to the Earth, 3rd Century B.C.

Who said everyone in the ancient world believed the world was flat?