Fathom 1992



Inside Cover



Derrick E. Higginbotham (2)
KimRilda LeBlanc (2)
Sean Kirby (2)
Graham Touchie (3)
Julie Traves
Ken Samberg (3)
Gina M. Beaton (2)
Dana James (2)
Morgan O’Connor (3)
Alex Mason (2)
G. J. Munro
Stephen Saunders (2)
Steve LeBlanc
Duncan McCue (3)


Adrian Vanderwiel


Derrick E. Higginbotham



The Explosion Occurs

The explosion occurs in a frenetic motion.
The hues shift upon the wire
coded with humidity­
I feel fragments: a ghost limb.

(later, rodent thoughts move to the crusty scene
pawing against a stopped watch
charred from the lost energy

She and I drowned in the ‘o’ of combustion...
flung...demolished...sprung like Spring,
parts of a balloon once it’s been pricked)

After this explosion I stood amidst all speculation.
I was approached by the bleached girl,
with bruises on her knees
who proclaimed her love for me -undying-

I continually vomit water into the toilet.
She is perched on the edge of the tank
pressing the lever...
-informing me I was the only man for her.

I made amends with my torn ruining shoes
as she told me the story of my life.
We looked at each other in complete equality;
she walked away humming a Dylan tune-

The air is frozen with dead victory.


A Box

A Box: No Arms, No Legs
I can separate the weld of actions
from the hiss of emotions
interacting on a dry design
of splintered beams and veined cables
hanging, envisaging intestines
jagged forms of steps - dog’s teeth
snarled with dirt, blood
gums and muscles all matted:
powerfully unsanded.
A voluminous Caterpillar tilted in the center
making a feint – preying on the side
beside waves of cement
while rodent machines jerk
away debris; not collimated
dust filters coating concave glass
shields of vehicles below.
Imagine the smudge stain horror
of someone discovering himself
inside this building
the aperture in the eggshell extremity,
a sag, black lines alluringly stretched
into existence on the walls.
A man is in the window, to the left
looking past ogling spectators
smeared on the inside pane
distorted cell: an aquarium,
shaped by diffusion.
No one is following the victim’s gaze
he does not make it.
I, paste and sticky of being -
nailed in a slippery tank
sitting wordless outside the building,
his trap is like mine here
in this huddled eyeing mass
on Saturday morning, full of sweat
from my stillborn submission.


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