FathomOnline

 

 Fathom 1990

Cover

 

Inside Cover

 

Poetry

Gina M. Beaton
S.M. Webb (4)
S.A. Galliah (2)
Joe Blades (3)
Rick Armstrong
Timothy Dansdill
Louann M. R. Scallion
G.J. Munro
Laura L. Beaton
Edward W. N. Meers
Nick Lolordo (2)
Mike Butler
Lisa Michelle Fiander (2)

Prose

Yassarian King
Martin Doucette

Artwork

H.A. Hutchinson

[PDF]

S.M. Webb

 

 

Looking ot You Sometimes

We said nothing important.
I said I’m sorry,
he a sked if I hated him.
I wanted to say “No, silly, I love you,”
But that would have been superfluous,
And possibly a lie (the jury’s still out),
“If I was mad
it was because you left.
What a feeble piece of
human desire I’m reduced to,
looking at you”
-sometimes.

 

What I’m Remembering

(Raw emotions flow onto pages...
What if I’m emotionless,
Passionless?)

Remember passion-
      As well as I can remember it
Remember inebriate seduction techniques.
Remember waking to disbelief
and later, reawakening to disgust.

And the act itself
Maybe I do not wish to remember,
To disclose,
There is eroticism, desire
But there are baser versions of these too.
When they’ve stemmed from
Illegitimate sources,
Maybe they are better left secreted,
Forgotten.

And so we turn the friendship back
To many months ago,
And so we turn the friendship off
For it is difficult to talk about the weather
When n my mind you lie naked
In muted window starlight,
And softly, sweetly kiss me goodbye
For the last time as you leave
 

 

Why I don’t do that anymore

Sometmes it’s frenzied, fast, fired motion
Moist moving, over, under
Feeling.
And sometimes it’s just lying there.
Sometimes it’s wanting to just lie there
Feeling
That it should be
That it is desirable to be
Going quickly,
Going now, dong now
All that is desired.
When I should instead be
Going, now.

Or Just lying there.
Or maybe
Well, maybe I’m old fashioned
      -Some might say archaic-
But-
Talking?

Tell me your name.
Who you are,
So when I whisper it I
can feel it
      -Even if you can’t-
I’m sorry if I want too much.
If this is too much.

Know what?
You want too little.

 

(It Will Happen) Again

“It’s not as urgent,”
Sle whispered,
“Because I know it will happen again.”
They thought about it,
Between the two,
And realized they must agree

But, in not being urgent,
It was neither boring,
Nor routine.
It may happen again,
but it will never be just the same.

Gibberish and tickle spots,
little happy sounds.
Marking the unspoken,
Unwritten, unthought -
Yet mutual - agreement that
It will happen again.

 

last updated August 17, 2007 | © 2007 Fathom Publishing
poetry, prose, and artwork © individual authours | website created by Alana Paul