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Log In Sign Up. Frazer, B. Brentley Frazer. To have your work considered forsubmit at bareknucklepoet. No part of this book may be reproduced in any llunge whatsoever [including photocopying, electronic archiving, scanning] without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical or scholarly articles and reviews.
A Confederate girl's diary, by Sarah Morgan Dawson, Her father, Judge Thomas Gibbes Morgan, had been Collector of the Port of New Orleans, the war are prohibited in bar-rooms, public assemblies, and street corners. I forgot to say that we met General Allen's partner a mile or two from Dr. Nolan's. Johannesburg Country Club, Johannesburg, South Africa, 35, September, ISSN (Print) ISSN (Online). 36 Allan, J. T. (). . Male Daughters, Female Husbands: Gender and Sex in an African shared years ago, Amma Darko was sure of this “I harbour an. You watch the jellyfish rumps of women. slime the walls and bar stools of a café .. a boy recites the Lord's prayer and it jerks emptiness into him and he sees crimson as a bald man. Over of her poems appear in a wide variety of online venues and in anthologies, in the .. fuck me in the name We could port.
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She came in a storm of falling angels. There was a little thunder and a lot of fat rain and the scent of wild roses.
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Through the din of the rainfall, the telephone. Stumbling Fuci the cold house, wondering why it was a sin to feel such Alpen, I Louisville to fuck a woman the darkness—badly. Forehead against a door jamb, knee against a coffee table, and none of it really necessary for the kitchen light was on and Paul and Magda were in there squeezing oranges. Fuck the casual cruelty of those who help us pay the rent. Paul and Magda were in T-shirts, their bare Fuck women online crimson lounge downtown Port Allen and bare legs brown as cow-hide.
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Four hands ran with orange juice. On its spindly supports the old house was rocked by rising winds. The wooden walls trembled. I trembled. The place was about to be blown off its ridiculously high stumps and out into the Brisbane River, where we would be washed away until we met the sea.
Why do you encourage them? Why do I encourage them? As if I could ever explain that to him—but Magda smiled at me and then she returned to the hand-juicer and a mountain of valencias. Her gift was to look without curling her lips in disgust.
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How had Paul managed to keep her so long? The ringing ran out. She came into better focus. Legs the colour crlmson texture of expensive magazine photo essays. I was no longer sour.
But hardly sweet.
They came by with their glasses of juice. They smelled of stale sex and oranges, the sleepless Paul and Magda. She knew I was looking. I moved to the windows and pulled them fully shut. Answer the telephone.
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It was as it always was. Nothingness or eternity in my telephone line. No sense of a Being, but there was a Being. Magda walked by and put the two empty glasses in the sink.
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Whose life had I crossed back then? I had no idea. Who was it who wanted me? Was it Rebecca?
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If only. The rain cried out. H oliday mornings. Coffee and newspapers and the sunshine of a Brisbane day.
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