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OPINION
January 22, 1998
home Three Weeks Into the Year
Martin Bishop
It is always hard to look at things in retrospect. Visits from regret or hope often frequent our not too distant past. Every 365 days, it seems, waxes of the same nostalgia. Of death, life, and the latest freak of nature. 1997 was not spared this curse.

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A Poetry of Senses, par excellance
Charlie Samuya Veric
Unlike the gods, we fornicate in ways primeval & worldly/ Meantime, we forget about the heaving sea, the floating moon, & the wandering fish as we busy ourselves contemplating the law of gravity/ For everything which goes up must come down, like our libido/

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