Issue 19




Temporary Obituary


Lauren Marie Cappello





When I died alone

beside a pale dogwood blossom

the carnival momentum kept spinning

in the glistening distance,


& the carnival landscape made mockery

of a tree with no way of knowing; the

tocsin jangle of a penny arcade with no small

beauty or small change, no modest offering came,

the story was this—


No, not me, no, lighting another cigarette &

humming slow— i’ll tell you of the carnival:

& by carnival i mean tree, and by tree

i mean Vieux Carré at pastel sunset,

or the sinuous phrase “in love”.


No, no one saw my break from the

crowd, the daggers, darts, skewers, arrows—

& curl into a lightless bloom.


Now everybody thinks it doubtful,

or so they gather— eavesdropped

poems, the evening paper,

a map— pre-made, than rather a

geography One wouldn’t mention,

but ne’er a flower.


& since i’ve been bathing

in rain, the balloon-like clouds

close their eyes to me.  It just

might have been possible.










Lauren Marie Cappello has traded in the glitter of New Orleans for homesteading in Northern California.  She has work in E·ratio 15, 16 and 19. 



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