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Winter 2019/20

Raymond Philip Asaph


Ignoring his father’s fading screams, he rose in fits,
kicking and flailing as the feathers melted
and stinging wax zigzagged down his back.

His forehead blistered; his burning hair stank.
Below, the sea was a sheet of slate—but still
he beat his arms against the pull of the world.

What did he see on the red screens of his eyelids
before the ocean broke his bones, the waves
rolled over his nose and the fish ate his eyes?


Raymond ‘Philip’ Asaph,a meditation instructor in Cortland, NY, writes poetry, fiction and prose.


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