Issue 1

Essay After the Twentieth Century

 · Poetry

The humans panic 
When suddenly shaped by the beautiful storm
And the fields of gauze
A memory of a shave or some paintings
Or a walk through the poor district

To the eternity of an eyelash
Could you write a secret
In three words only

Watching the rain move in green
From the north across a grid that does not exist
I did not mind getting lost with you
The whales of the Atlantic were grateful
To have us whole and dreaming of them

The earth is ready to be done
With the last century
It seems the land knows little of itself
Erased by wind and water

But the new hour spins and the mind
Wants to know the voice
That held it all this time
And why it has remained.

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