Poetry Issue 20


Mark Anthony Cayanan

And if raised, fall instantly

From mortality o’clock to the impending
otherwise, the once acute mind grows
its down, the difficult heart unlearns its body.
Heat is speech. The eye, the great sympathetic,

comes to a full. I deserve this age, when death
is the casual marvelous found almost daily.
And the woman my story keeps exposing is
a glass held over his little village, a cold cloth

of holy water, a midnight voyeur rising
for the specter of my woman. Why I nevertheless
am present is when what I want given
I am given. To knife the known life. I condone

belief as it up-spirals: to have never believed
in touch is immediately an always vital order.