MOEZ SURANI Guy de Maupassant “What, then, did Flaubert understand by beauty, in the art he perused with so much fervour, with so much self-command? Let us hear a sympathetic commentator.” — Walter Pater I become Boswell around him. I see him Sundayswhen bark closes his face. He is an unhappy planet disregard thegarrulity of his letters he is somethingfrom Ovid becoming woman or lionon whim becoming delusionor child as the bark slams over his stomachand
PHIL CARON The You from Here Last night I watched a house burn down. And when it was done only a silhouette remained, lit from inside by a heart of crusted embers. I thought about you. Afterwards, in my hotel room, I noticed the scent of smoke on my jacket. You used to call that lumberjack perfume. More thoughts of you. I ordered food: Thai noodles and a ginger ale. I found a hair clinging
JEN CURRIN A Bat Unveiled In the museum of land mines,my acquaintance fans her wings.Outside the sparrows catch fire.A tree falls to its knees.I become the sudden murderer,unable to recognize the radishesof my hands. The dictionary shudders. Again I cannot bealone. What is left of beautyI sop up with a napkin, believingit a limited supply. My only reading materialgives in to the blaze. And now I burn the legsof the chair, lest they touchthe ground.