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** Aaron James Ottinger **
Exit from a Cave
We crawled out from under a dark, concrete cave,
illuminated, the sun did glow, it glowed to a pale hue green,
and I thought then to myself, from what the sun is made?
But no time to ponder did our vessel permit,
gliding by, the sparrows high,
from my window seat I writ.
Could we ever know the passage through
which we passed?
Nameless chatter was all about as the train pursued to fast.
I saw a one, a woman there, sitting all her own.
I wondered then, had she pen, what her thoughts would’ve shown.
Could there be some connection, her and I betwixt?
Certainly was a silly notion, but on this thought I fixed.
Another boy down the row, I saw and could have sworn I’d seen,
his hair was a mess of curls,
like a pale German girl’s—
where was it that he’d been?
It may have been on the landing, on my way by train.
Oh, memory can only capture glimpses, riddled with eclipses,
and the rest tends to wane.
But in a moment such as first, a child’s born by way of hearse:
the stage incites fear to sight,
And on this thought I’mmerse.
Our Wonderful and Secret Press
By night
her hand lay upon
my face
like a
carving dug
deep inside a plate.
They’re not the same,
nor one,
but rather a perfect
fit—
like the lighted
dark from which
light was lit.
In moments, though,
they separate;
from surfaces of skin
will amass a map of fate.
But as a print
must repair
(from its origins
of intention),
this mold
will declare
the aesthetic
of invention.
Glass Door
There are no natural
visions,
only smoky filled
lenses—
where it rains inside
and the mind
pays no mind
to the
senses.
Aaron James Ottinger says: "Poetry has been something I've felt compelled to write since the age of thirteen. It was not until the summer of 2005 that I felt my pen and I were working together to make something worth re-reading. I primarily blame the sun, or rather, give it the credit. Since 2005,
I've attempted to become more active in pursuing a "poet's life." It's not quite being a pirate, but it's not far off. My endeavors thus far have included a self-produced chapbook of poems and essays (which started out as a Christmas present but is now available at the random places I put them). I've read at the Green Mill."
Copyright 2006, all rights reserved.
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