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Spill the molten crust.

By Purdy, Director of Publicity

Michael Manner and I were English majors at Plattsburgh State before the days of email, before the days of the fax. Indeed, the modern technology of the time was floppy disk computers, and the CD was quickly replacing the cassette tape. Manner and I have kept in touch through the years and when we are together we often argue and bicker like a married couple about love, fear, greed, envy, lust, hypocrisy, music, cats v. dogs, words et al. I think the only thing we ever seem to agree on is that chocolate milk is the greatest invention ever. But enough about me, Manner is a freelance computer consultant living with his mangy, blind cat in Williamsburg Brooklyn, NY. His love of poetry dates back to when dinosaurs roamed the earth and he first heard the words “ugga bugga” uttered by a passing Neanderthal woman. He’s been writing verse since the Iron Age and one day hopes to be cited in the OED. His fave comic book hero is Batman. Despite all this I think is is a truly talented poet and have asked him to post some poems on this blog. You be his judge.

Spill the molten crust.

Spill – Spill vaporic waste.
What slaughters sea beneath a falling crawl –
what burns what cannot burn.
What cracks black and orange like conquered flesh.
What spews bile becomes soil – scarring the offing
Behind smoke white as the whale. There is no difference –
Both create – both destroy – what lives dies. All is wasted;
And all either stone or mist.

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