Original article posted by Minty:

The first was written in Todds class this afternoon and the second…well Im fairly sure it came from hell but it got here through my hand.

-The Errant Copy-

First line of her work, tambourine pots and pans
Toddler letters, mouths gaped and looped
crossed irreverently with dangling hands ,legs, chubby
fingers over tracks of cyan. And everyone with a face
to the wedding white oblivion.

Oh editor, where are your ear muffs?
There is so much noise here-
and no sound.

-Audens Garden-

Poet: A rare halting beast
Tempered in so many fires
Each blown to embers not
So much by the wind but its theology.

So close to my own breath, the animal
Of my lips and still grunting fists which
Were once hands.
Though our Gods know this to be true,
That flesh in all its rotting incarnations
Prove useless in the history of
human souls.

God in her gory glory
In his vulgar vengeance
Speak with the trumpet of mythos
Great lesson of the dead!

I am not my zenith
Through you, not in you
I am understood.

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