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The Little Death
delivered to me on the back of a cat – les enfants terribles, your thighs swimming under the Charles at night. holy island, these rain-warped boards, still splintery in the sand. My finger drives down your rue, bouncing across ruelle, speeding upon the autoroute. the child of explosions. We tear the cloth between us from the bottom up. “La petite mort”, as the French say, the little death felt at the mouth of a trumpet as each note chews and swallows its food: grateful shivering from the pyramid of sacrum. Thoughtless, comme d’habitude, we die a little, each time, when we plaster our hands together to the wallowing threads of Blue in Green. Eden Shulman |
"The Stillness Moves" by Louis Staeble
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Eden Shulman is an undergraduate English student at Northeastern University in Boston, MA. He is the Vice President of the Northeastern University Write Club and has been published in Uppagus and The East Coast Literary Review.
Louis Staeble lives in Bowling Green, Ohio. His photographs have appeared in dislocate magazine, Driftwood, Four Ties Literary Review, Iron Gall, On The Rusk, Paper Tape Magazine, Petrichor and Tupelo Quarterly. His web page can be viewed at http://staeblestudioa.weebly.com.
