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Editor's Note


SNR's Writers


The Experience

Falling into canyons can devastate
Like drops of rain on red soil
But for a few moments I can travel
Between sheets of air with my arms
Outstretched – a wingspan to embrace
The wind as my heart flutters from the high
I’ll never hold again
I’m falling fast and I wonder how
I can keep this experience
Of never wanting to hit bottom less 

There are no reasons in our logic
And while I’ve hunted with nothing
But my heart I know I still have a chance
To enjoy this, enjoy this and the air below
Me will thicken
The clock’s hands pierced my shoulders
But not my legs
I can still move forward at the same time

My pace is slowed
But not my will
I’ll get there
I’ll get there soon enough
It’s inevitable
Let me have this.

The Mirror

I struggle to lift the inundated wastebasket in front of the tight, tight sand
Concealing my heart and lungs, I still only see garbage
In the reflection that always slapped my face with images I never wanted to see
The truth, once again, the truth!
Did each piece of refuse have a previous life that up to now
Held a fetal position between each wrinkle that further decayed its surface
As time went on?
Some were important, special, or pleasurable
And some were just
Just used to pass time
They never even paused to let me know
Parachuting from my hand I thought they never even cared to let me know
But they did
They did!  And I ignored their screams as they twitched to grow to their former selves
Each goodbye, hello, how-are-you?  I love you?  No
They are now crumbled, shambled, wrinkled,
Forgotten as they wait and wait and wait and wait
Until I’m upset by the present view
It’s no real ordeal to dispose of them
I never give it much thought
The mass genocide is meaningless to me and once again I ignore their screams
As they are bulldozed into the mass graves
I never give it much thought
Except maybe those days when I’m looking for something
I’m not sure what and regardless it’s nowhere to be found,
Not anymore
I wish I could but it’s gone forever and I can’t go back to fix my mistakes
Not anymore

The Hill

I can still see myself
Rolling down the hill all
Those years ago
Tumbling over grass and dirt
And the summer and friends
And laughter and adventure
And an idle clock
I would come to the bottom
Pulled by something greater than gravity
Reclined on my back, staring at
The too bright sky, smiling
Half out of breath - it escaped
Wanting to dance after being
Shaken alive -
I’d pause
Before going back to the top
Today I might break something
I might get dirty or frightened
So instead I’ll close my eyes
And see myself roll down the hill once
Again, and live the moment over

And over
It’s enough

For me

Copyright 2007, Michael Kozlowsky. © This work is protected under the U.S. copyright laws. It may not be reproduced, reprinted, reused, or altered without the expressed written permission of the author.

Michael Kozlowsky is currently a freelance writer living in New York City.  He has short stories and poetry currently published or upcoming in issues of 3 AM Magazine, Red Wheelbarrow, Denver Syntax, The Beat, Remark, Right Hand Pointing, and foam:e.  He has a degree in English, and is working on his second while completing his novel, Wish.  A memoir will follow.