Me, Ezra

You are so profound
But I wonder what your latest rave meant.
You are Eliot and I, Pound
The pavement.

Two Variations on a Theme by God

I Haven't Got a Prayer

Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my Soul to keep
And if I die before I wake
I pray some editor my poems to take.

Praying in Verse

Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my Soul to keep.
Not so fast, sayeth the Lord and other nay-sayers,
Inverted phrases don't make good prayers.

by Edmund Conti

Edmund Conti recently moved from New Jersey to North Carolina and so far North Carolina isn't moved. Nor is the rest of the country moved by his publication of Quiblets. But just in case there is a collective change of heart, here is the link:

Tongue-Twisting Taleslisten

A Parable of Sorts

Fearless Forrest fucked poor Fraulein
Spielmann senseless as Pandora;
Horny Harry held out hopes that
Dowdy Dara was a whore, and

Ardent Andy urged amor on
Manly Mildred, feigning straight, while
Burly Bobby braved a ball with
Easy Eve, who masturbated

Coy Christine to shrill crescendo
(Voyeur Victor viewed the bout); and
Tepid Tom tossed tawdry tales at
Pent-up Paula's peckish pout. When

Loyal Larry lost his love, one
No-good Nora met his bat, but
Seedy Scott sought sex with psychos –
And there's nothing wrong with that.

by Scott Miller

Scott Miller is currently completing his MFA in Poetry from Antioch University Los Angeles. Born in Philadelphia, he holds a degree in Mathematics from MIT and remains a software developer even as he pursues a writing career, in an effort to achieve the elusive left-brain/right-brain balance. Scott has lived in the San Fernando Valley with his wife, Michal, since 2003.

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