Volume 27, Number 1

A patriot’s tale

The granaries are choked with
fervor. Dust spills & spreads,
excludes the sky, occludes the
light. A virtual night I walk &

talk through, articulated limbs
but un-articulated fears. In some
strange manner I've become a
reluctant pedestrian on someone

else's treadmill. Have found my-
self, have found myself to be
what I am most afraid of. Un-
certain. & these are certain times.

—Mark Young