exsanguinate | issue 3.3 excerpt

volume 3 issue 3

braille - jonathan lowe

A slate world
is easily erased.
Nothing remains long.
Measuring time by the curvature
of a cheek,
we reach for faces
creased by memory.
But the old is gone.
New tales replace old
Constantly,
as if truth could be told-
an essence from fragments.
Now, simply, we must learn
among the scars of age
What only touch discovers.

entrance exam - jonathan lowe

In your lap, asleep,
the space between us wide as death:
I am not the answer, but the question.

Concentrate.
Six final words,
the riddle you thought you knew,
trying to trace it
      backward,
  trying,
but only to describe this bony glode of hair,
its space, its weight on your feet
from you hands,
remembering words without meaning,
places past connection, moments, days,
until there's nothing left.  Abyss.

Who do you think I am?

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