by Alan Catlin

We were walking along a beach and found an old object that appeared to have
washed up on shore. There was no date anywhere on it that we could find. Inside were
just a few objects; a loaded six shot hand gun, a neatly wrapped packet of girlie
magazines and some rumpled aluminun foil which once may have contained something
of value. Also, oddly, there was a picture of my exact twin brother standing on this very
beach with a black patch over his right eye. His face is inscrutable. I never recall seeing
him like this before. This must be a form of love.

The Sore Thumb
A blue thumb nail is a bruised corona, a dark plain, white speckles like stars are
haloed in. Looking deeper, a red line, jagged and fissured, is turning colors, transformed
as Martian canals are by solar winds, coated by dust. Following the fault line over
polished enamel layered as thick textured skins, hardened as armor made brittle by
contact, leads toward a softer tissue, lesions scarred over, preserving what is inside, as
snow would cover a foreign body embedded within a block of black ice.



Alan Catlin had a number of chapbooks to his credit, the latest being Death and Transfiguration Cocktail from Lummox Press. He is still awaiting his Selected Poems: Drunk and Disorderly from Pavement Saw Press. Despite the thematic nature of his titles he hasn't had a drink in many years though he still bartends in Albany, NY.


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