Have you seen Bat City Review, the gorgeous new journal out of The University of Texas at Austin? Look for the tattoo and talons on the cover of issue 2, 2006, where I have three new poems. Here's a sample:
The Belltown Angel
In place of solitude I see the sky. Across the city someone holds dinner for a dozen high above his head. Traffic becomes maps of traffic becomes voices on the radio talking about traffic. Someone holds loaves of bread to her chest and kicks open a wooden door with her boot.
Everything we’ve lost has been returned to us for this day only.
Everything is on sale and the air quality has never been better.
Hostages shiver in the shadow of my burnt-out buildings. Lovers and night dreamers leave icons at my feet, so many candles to drowsy Maria and African Jesus. I sign an animal pact to the lost souls who kneel to me. I sing a lullaby to the glittery drunks and bedraggled drag queens who parade beneath my fiberglass wings. The sky splits into heartstars that guide strippers home, spindly shoes draped over their shoulders, thighs smelling of shaving cream and dollar bills. I spread my wings over the forge where the black dog sleeps, over the corner where a man reads Lorca to his homeless lover.
The Belltown Angel
In place of solitude I see the sky. Across the city someone holds dinner for a dozen high above his head. Traffic becomes maps of traffic becomes voices on the radio talking about traffic. Someone holds loaves of bread to her chest and kicks open a wooden door with her boot.
Everything we’ve lost has been returned to us for this day only.
Everything is on sale and the air quality has never been better.
Hostages shiver in the shadow of my burnt-out buildings. Lovers and night dreamers leave icons at my feet, so many candles to drowsy Maria and African Jesus. I sign an animal pact to the lost souls who kneel to me. I sing a lullaby to the glittery drunks and bedraggled drag queens who parade beneath my fiberglass wings. The sky splits into heartstars that guide strippers home, spindly shoes draped over their shoulders, thighs smelling of shaving cream and dollar bills. I spread my wings over the forge where the black dog sleeps, over the corner where a man reads Lorca to his homeless lover.
Comments
ciao bella
D(arius)Antwan Stewart
-- Miss C.