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Art & Letters Magazine Editor Shares Poem Of His Own

By Ben Mazer for Boston Compass (#122)

April 30, 2020

This piece originally appeared in Viscous Verses, a monthly poetry column in the Boston Compass Newspaper edited by Art & Letters Magazine

It rains. One steps up through the haze of tan and violet to the maze of memory--misty where one stands, twisting, separating strands.

The hour's dim, and no one calls; obligation mutely falls through floors of mountains, origin: anonymously you begin.

The blasted lantern of the nerves lights up the sky, where starlight curves; below, on earth, some few pass by sheer constructs of identity.

They swirl and plaster every sense, unto a law of difference: not clear how long, or what direction, subsume the nerves in their inspection.

The skeleton's examination evokes, incites, brief procreation: filed away, some future date astonished memories locate.

The seraphs of pedestrians seep into violets, into tans, breaching desire's boulevards; throw down the last of evening's cards.

There is no way to formulate identity's raw nervous state: it seems to slip into the world, by stellar facts and atoms hurled

into the mythic stratosphere. Ideas formulate the seer. Genesis sans génération. A change of trains at London station.

—Ben Mazer.

April will see the publication of BEN MAZER AND THE NEW ROMANTICISM by Thomas Graves on Pen and Anvil

Check out all the art and columns of April's Boston Compass at


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