ISSUE  1   2   3   4   SUBMIT


Del Ray Cross

Blackberry Allusions.
Otto says occasionally like once a year I’ll need a really large
rubber band.  So I put it down on the bottom of the big drawer.
Fourteen bottles later I can feel the disposition of the sun across
the island.  It’s a suicide watch.  That summer I beat myself up
with a bobby pin.  I didn’t mean it to be funny, it just was.
Slick Airplane Heart.
Otto says he feels a drop.  The sun plunges into the bus.  The bus
bludgeons Nob Hill.  Romance is filtered through the tunnels, perk-
ing up passers-by.  It is Tuesday.  There is a pain in my lower side.
Kidney?  Liver?  A bit too deep, the Swedish massage therapist?
The shadowy figures burnt into my memory are gliding by the
sliced strawberries, grazing the frosted pitchers.  Waterwheels
scrape stories off the tops of our heads like bank buildings.
Liquid Champagne.
Otto says the picture of the first story I ever wrote is sexy.
It’s about a rooster whose ‘owners’ leave him alone on a
deserted farm.  Our memories are mostly buried.  Last
night I dreamt {the same thing I wrote in the paragraph
above.}  Some problems with this picture are:  Glue.  Halls.
Charcoal fog.  “Glue halls the charcoal fog.”  Otto says I’m screaming in my head.  Go Away Dreams.
Del Ray Cross lives in SHAMPOO and edits San Francisco. His book (with a secret name) will be out from Pressed Wafer in Autumn 2006.