Thursday, August 3, 2017


By Peter Magliocco

It clings to me with imprint fine
any regal hand leaves
across my trespassed flesh
feeling fingertips beating time
into the soft skin age betrays
scaling planets in dreadfall space.

There is no Muse left for me
to draw the face of time on:
only the small daily plunge
of sentient being unmasked
by death's timeless orbit
round our devolving remnants

Vying to break old gravity's pull,
to become something beyond flotsam
in once human form again.
There is no end to falling back
from the lift-off critical second
thrusting our svelte rocket upwards
before the inevitable pull of Sisyphus

Tales flesh back
into that burning pall
of an unknown graven home.

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Peter Magliocco writes from Las Vegas, Nevada, where he occasionally edits the lit-zine ART:MAG. His recent sci-fi novel SPLANX was published by Cosmic Egg Books. A new ebook of his speculative novel, The Burgher of Virtual Eden, is available in all the usual places.

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