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ink
a literary supplement

Fall 2001

Untitled

Silver Gelatin Print By J. Luca Ackerman


in the lukewarm dark

man looks for angel in the cold, feet strapped to paper slippers and
bare beneath hospitalcloth. he walks ragged up the alley towards me, pushed
in all directions by the still air, his shoulders hanging from a neck cocked
sideways in desperation, wavering atop a body that really doesn't know what
to do with itself anymore, just plods forward as the world whistles past his
ear condensing wetly into a distant tragic memory that couldn't actually be
real. I think I read about that in a magazine somewhere, where the gloss of
the pages glints like small deaths off posed professionals in the business
of life, each representative of countless masses thick with elation,
watching the smell of time acting ironically inside wastebaskets where
thousands of lucky people live, alone until morning arrives and they
awake, shocked, unwrinkled, wondering how they ended up here again, in the
glass box where a strange man with sick-bay shoes grabs them rudely,
crumpling them into his pockets as fodder for his tiny charcoal sun.



Blossom


I.


What has collected here:

Tufts of straw, sands,

pebbles, fragments,


transported by way of many moods,

one contradicting another.


Remnants: evidence of the clouds'

exuberant tears,

a limp blossom or two,


each and all of these things

drifted at random

spread out before you.


II.


Piercing green anthem

Unafraid I Am exploration

Green I Am existence

Piercing unafraid

I Am Anthem

Exploration green

Piercing existence

Exploration Unafraid

I Am Piercing

Green existence

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