Winter 1999 • Vol. XXI No. 1 Poetry |

Manifesto

I've never kissed another man but sometimesI imagine myself at Hannibal's side.His boy. His elephant tender. We storm the Alps together, hulking machinery of killing in tow. Storm out of 247 B.C. and into the hot mouth of history on the stink and thunderous bulkof pachyderms on the stink and thunderous bulkof greedy men on the thirty thousand backs of our own dead.—You—he'd say, and I take my poleaxe to the rogue elephant before it kills more of us than them.—You—he'd say, nights when the blood-washed mountains groan under the weight of the accusing moon, and I go to his tent take his trembling head in my lap.—You—he'd say wantingme to tell him of 1997, of my life, of the mundane. To comfort him as only I can. Such is the way of great men. I'll tell you something important. Soon.I've never seen the Hoover Dambut I am in love with the checkout girl. Girl I say although she may be thirty or fifty. Love I say for her lisp and her loose eye and the way she drags one leg behi

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The Life Concise

By Sandra McPherson

I've never kissed another man but sometimesI imagine myself at Hannibal's side.His boy. His elephant tender. We storm the Alps together, hulking machinery of killing in tow. Storm out of […]

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