Issue 12

Summer 2014



The manifest word on the page,
innocuous to the eyes,
can break on the teeth over
and over again, can leave
the incisors chipped
and mandible aching from
grinding through that one
word, that one treacherous line
in my sleep. (Can pyromorphite
live inside a poem? Can
substantive?) Then. Aloud.
Again. My voice takes
on the tone of a scolding squirrel.


Trina Gaynon