Leveler Poetry Journal
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S is for Schwa


There’s no need to plan for another pile of cars on the

freeway. If there is blood & bone then there is karma.

Delirious moments, arrive together! Having the texture of


down, gravity becomes an apparatus for splitting words

& redistributing them as multiple choice tests. Check

dialogue box & determine whether the beard remains


awake. Like two rotating orbs, the girl’s eyes twirl in their

sockets & avoid the light of day. Once she arrives the whole

world gathers inward momentum. Inward momentum,


is the simple gesture of two lips recurring in a paired

unit. There is the sound & then there is the representation

of the sound. March violence. Without proper identification


papers how can we mimic the peculiar fulcrum of the

beehive? What is one to do, the reader craves the surface

of the moon, not downward angles & planes of simulation.


I dunno. Where it starts is where it ends. Entwined with

soft lashes & battened by howling winds. No wonder

forecasters place their faith in the songs of the thrush


family. No wonder a sherpa agrees to deliver us to this

furtive canyon. As for the girl, she pokes through the

lid of conscious perception to reveal the appellative nature


of image & desire. Mercy, here comes the mullet now. If not

for the apotheosis of nickel acetate would we still cling to the

water underneath this bridge? What happens when the spiral


shaped tube on which we view the ritual of our death is not

in the shape of a spiral? Will we still destroy everything to avoid

phonetic transcription? It’s the same whether it’s the same or not.




Craig Foltz