Page 4
N.C, Essay
Friday, October 24, 1975
I Should Be Making Points
All my days slide down to nothing.
I should be making points or
Something-
Watching the time with miser’s
eyes,
Counting the penny minutes
Through red slits of worry
But I watch the hours drift and die
Without the thought of profit,
Without the slightest hurry,
Or worry to beat the minutes
breathless
And suck them till they drop dry and
bloodless,
Like some merciless landlord
Counting his life in cold, metered
rhyme.
Waving his petty mortgage
In the laughing face of time.
Kevin Atkinson
Slow Death on a Merry-Go-Round
Not knowing,
Not knowing.
Slow death on a merry-go-
round.
Did I come for the ride
ls that all?
Can I even decide
When to let the colored
lights fade
And vanish in the night’s
parade.
And fall.
Silent under the still
canopy,
staring down at me.
And finish,
Finish finally knowihg,
Or do I just keep on
forever
going
going
going.
Kevin Atkinson
Untitled
Play me a song, cowboy,
You might as well-
All the heavy metal in the world
couldn’t drown out your acoustic
in my head...
And what do you call those funny
shoes?
It must be like walking
through life laid-back;
I want to borrow them-
Learn your rhythm-
Play me a song, cowboy.
Jeffrey Burchfield
Kurt HoMing W^gt'veS““ “ '
A
m
Untitled
snow in the soft and early morning;
fire comes, for a fiercely angry day.
if I know not I am, then am I not indeed ~
knowing not and being not the same?
f
am I but a girl, but a child, but a fool,
might I be a woman, grandly mad -
blisters on my flesh, reminders of a night of
pain-
if this be such a night, will I be glad?
Kay Crutcher