Sans Ephesus

By Jake Russell

Viscosity in a word –
When Joseph was a seven-
year-old in second
grade, his mother bought an eight-
pack of Crayolas.
Colors included


now a more tact-
ful descriptor than African
American, because some among them
hail from Haiti
and others the Dominican
Republic. Because of Republican
platform and GOP ticket,
Ian says that we’re post-Civil
Rights and Alex agrees
he is right — one
of the few things.
Socialism with a human
face, bursting forth.
brilliant flash of lightning,
dissipates into night.
A black, wizened
Czechoslovakian American
casts a vote. He is well-


and believes the gay rights movement will
flare like Fourth of July
fireworks in much the same effect
of the Czech-
oslovakian socialism in the 1960s.
Night beckons
d    i    s    s    i    p    a    t    e    s
Getting older and seeing routine
in the winds of hist’ry


southeast trade below
the doldrums, Hadley
cell northeast above
equatorial low. Late December,
polar easterlies
try to push their front
south. They were intercepted the year last
by a circulation pattern in the Northern Atlantic.
Weather systems split
north and south of the Midwest because La
Nina hit — La Nina, in Spanish, means
the girl. A girl who brings a kite to show
and tell, whose father
teases, “Looks like this season will be a


Christmas,” driving to an Eve
service in a gas-guzzling
SUV. Eve means life, the
same forward motion he breathes
in words next to pad that reads,
“A Cup of Joe is your friend.”
He’s permanent markered-out
“A Cup of.” Let’s revisit
Alex and Ian. Alex
likes hist’ry because it’s rel-
ative, understood through a
lens of interpretation.
Two men chronicle the same
event, return with diff’rent
manuscripts. In science, hard
empirical fact is king —

a hard king
with rock star
cock, clocked by
a stopwatch
in sex-scene

hard evidence, hard colors:


blue, not green. Unadulterated
pink light does not exist. Ian
is a scientist. I resent both
for their names — Ian, because two
of my past lovers dated Ians
before dating me and Alex
because they fucked Alexes after.
Vulnerability is key
to a functioning relationship.
I should remove myself from the
equation. But what then stands? The hu-
man condition? Nothing. Nothing
in a word — all things. Words interact:


courage    courage



It rained nonstop during
this autumn, but now
the ground is going to
freeze. Green turns to white.
Father foresees slick drive
to work. His daughter —
let’s call her


princess dress — pictures
snow days.


She’s treated

to fast food for good
behavior, but when father
eats there, it’s a fail.
More repetition. Hist’ry
is routine. A news-
caster asks how Czechs will swing
this election’s vote.
Distractions. If time will tell
and space show, science
and hist’ry are an elab-
orate show and tell
to which we are powerless
as a kite in wind.

Categories: Issue 4, Poetry | 1 Comment

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One thought on “Sans Ephesus

  1. Cork


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