Publication

No. 12!! Thanks everyone for your marvelous support!!

Lance,

First of all, let me start by thanking you for your wonderful submissions, thanks to writers like you, we had a record number of submissions to read during our blind evaluation process, all of which were amazing.

I am pleased to inform you that your poem, The Color of Outer Space, has been accepted for inclusion in our anthology, Point Mass.   If you have not already provided one, please forward me your most recent bio by May 24, 2013. You will be receiving a free electronic copy of the anthology. In addition, print copies will be available for purchase. I will contact you again when both become available.

 

Thanks again,

 A.J. Huffman and April Salzano

co-editors, Point Mass Anthology

 

 ᵺə ʗolor of outər sp∀cə.

 

rode in the /ˈwôtər/smooth, silver craft–) 

x0,x1,x2,x3,

 

running from the space end;

 

the lofted /bəˈlo͞on/man sees,

dances the foot

dance.

 

inside, non-/ˈsitizən/, has an

allegiance to instruments

white;

 

intellect evokes, just like the marm in a 

school one room house /CHôk/ dust–)

 

reads, just like the /blak/board writing

1888 circa current →

 

                           a-b-c-d-e-f-g-h-etc.

                      2+2=5

  g)eorge w(ashington) first in war

  uponfrom

                 (c((o)lor O(u)tEr ))sPace

                                        entering(into-

  aThe):l

             e=

                 !earth’s

a                                                         t

                          (m

  OspHerE                         .gRaVaTatiOnal) ))pUll

                                                         to

  c(oo(r()d(i)nates

(-4,-3))(0,-7)

  ,alienspacecraft;

                                            LaNdInG.

 

children’s eyes, thay have the slience,

they have the scare; fingernail

deep into the wood top 

desk–)

 

can’t leave the room one house school→

 

will. be. abducted. parents, never to see.

 

suddenly. the inside=the /ˈoutˈsīd/;

one figure alien.

 

children close their eyes like the arthritic

hand. their frailness has the

/ˈsan(d)ˌpāpər/ texture,

 

the alien’s, like the death scroll→

 

carries on the bough limb, the dead birds.

 

children begin to rattle their non-

denominational crosses–) make 

the movement like chiseled

headstone

 

fragments.

 

now, taken. now, /ˌənˈkəmfərtəbəl/ 

minds in shapeless bodies;

 

but, with the permanent face. on earth,

parents with the permanent search.

 

the /CHôk/ dust /iˈradiˌkāt/s . . . 

 

Copyright © 04/01/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®

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