November 14-20, 2011: Michelle Morouse and Vince O'Connor

week of November 14-20, 2011

Michelle Morouse and Vince O’Connor

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Michelle Morouse

Bio (auto)

I am a novice writer and pediatrician from Macomb, Michigan

The following work is Copyright © 2011, and owned by Michelle Morouse and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Mewing, rooting, suckling,
Gaze open,
It feeds.
Offering it tender morsels,
Unmindful of beak and talon, sharp eyes
Feeding it succulent fruits, laughing,
Awash in summer’s juice
Soufflés, light as breath, rich as sin,
Charred lumps of flesh,
Boards groaning,
Unfearing claws,
And gaping maw,
I fall into that righteous slumber,
And startle,
Before morning light,
Watching, agape,
As it lumbers out,
To feed again.

Vince O’Connor

Bio (auto)

Vince O’Connor has been a published writer since fourth grade, when his poem about protozoa was first published. Over the years he has published poetry in Satori, Main Channel Voices, Studio One, SP Quill Quarterly Magazine, Talking Stick 19, Clean Sheets, and The Pilot-Independent. His poem “A Question of Significance” was awarded an Award of Merit at the 15th Northwoods Art and Book Festival. He has written articles for magazines including A+, inCider, Compute!, Inside dBASE, Inside QuickBASIC, DBMS, Data Based Advisor, and Computer User, as well as writing a regular computer colum for Computer User and The Babbitt Weekly News. He has a play, “Nearly Departed,” published by Players Press, a book “Pushing AppleWorks To The Limit” publisehd by Compute! Books, and has written training material for various organizations and techical manuals for software companies. When he’s not writing or working at his day job on computers and websites, he can often be found acting, directing, or otherwise involved in local theater. Vince lives and works in Ely, MN.

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The following work is Copyright © 2011, and owned by Vince O’Connor and may not be distributed or re
printed in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

The Loss of Will

I crash in explaining I
am leaving and

you’re in some kind of frou-frou dress thing
and as you listen you
begin slipping it over your head
hands disappearing
as they float from your sleeves

I pace
and rant

saying nothing you pause me
tossing your hair from your face
you let it drape your
shoulder toward your breast
hanging off center

almost sad
you take my hand
stroke it against your tight face
then slowly move it down
your body
your arms wrapping around me
mouth finding my ear

my dilapidated heart leaps
to meet you and
toying with the hollow of your throat
I reach to drink from you

my will devolving


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