Finals for Quint Magazine's next issue, both illustrations are made to show next to Dorian "Paul D" Rogers poems, the circular illustration next to 'The Phenomenology of Roundness' and the teardrop shaped one next to 'Make me Cry'. Tere they are:
The Phenomenology of Roundness
by Dorian "Paul D" Rogers
Life is most definitely round.
I stopped chasing my future when I found it in my back
pocket after taking my clothes out of the wash the other day.
It was hidden in the lint and blue jean matter.
I no longer get teary-eyed when my past pants
in my ears like a loose hyena.
I reminisce my grandfather's laughs in the present
tense although his tombstone where he lies lies
and says he is long gone.
Time is cyclical, and Westerners are dying earlier
from the depressing effects of believing it is linear.
Certain African tribes call it zamani, the "now-ness of time".
I call it the roundness of time
because that just sounds cooler.
I will name my first daughter Zamani although my wife
will call it "ghetto" and swear that I will be cursing her
to a life of unemployment. I will tell her to get "o-ver" it
and laugh at my own inside joke.
Our universe is but one sud in a soda can.
Nipples aren't erogenous zones but baby bulls' eyes.
When someone calls you zero or rates you as such,
take solace in the fact that they compared you to something round.
Nothing squarish is cool except some board games.
Octagons mean to halt. Triangles force you to be cautious.
Rectangles sound like accidents and getting caught in snares.
Circles claim the sun, earth, cells, and wombs as their shape-bearers.
Eggs are this shape and so are buttons that fasten and unhinge.
Want to have an equitable meeting?
Set chairs in a circle.
Get around to it.
Want to tell someone you understand? Tell them, "Oh".
Look in the mirror and say it to see what shape your lips make.
Form your mouth in a round fashion to give the ultimate satisfaction to your man.
Men get slapped by their spouses for getting distracted from roundness.
Ditch the stop lights and take the round-a-bout.
Look around you and all you will see is round.
Make Me Cry
By Dorian "Paul D" Rogers
Say something saffron and crushed velvet that will crush me.
It's been so long since I leaked from the cracked clay of cheekbone.
I've become hardened and coarse,
barren barely recognizable.
Nothing moves me anymore.
Sing me a novella through ghostlike windpipe. Vibrato me to weeping.
Tell me a poem that will make the demons inside me snap
their fingers and leave me in shame and repentance.
May the Lord forgive them and solder angels' wings to their spiked spines.
Give me an image that makes me remember why I'm here tonight.
Wake me out of this fool's gold doldrums where cubic zirconium stars
dangle from thin strings and tumble on to dull drums.
When that first tear falls,
don't be tempted to wipe it.
Let it trickle down and
do a rain dance like the indigenous
so that more will be summoned
Some will drip from my chin.
Others will run down my neck
under my shirt
down my chest
and form a puddle in the web between them.
Let the dust there
become fertile mud
where a seed can be planted
and a new life can begin.
But first you have to bring me back
to humanity, un-Frankenstein me
and make me cry.