No Dice

Submitted by Willie Smith

I pick my teeth; the clock ticks.
The cat sits alert on the sill,
glaring through the glass death.
A molar yields a sesame seed.
The tongue slides it between incisors.
The cat’s tail twitches, trembles, puffs.
Front teeth crush the seed;
a hint of sesame opens. Ears back,
the cat drools lust to kill – on the
thistle edging the patio – a finch. Ticks
the clock. The cat aborts
a hiss. Knows just enough
not to leap. The tongue snakes
after further sesame savor,
although I know, snapping the pick,
tossing the splinters on a plate,
no more bits of food in the teeth. The
finch, bill fuzzy with thistle, flits from view.
To the floor the cat hops. Balances on
rear; spreads legs. Falls assiduously
to ass-licking. To prove to the world
nothing, just nothing, just happened.


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The Vita Brevis Team

“Ars longa, vita brevis" (art is long, life is short). This maxim so moved us that it seemed only right to title our online poetry magazine after it. It may seem curious that we chose Vita Brevis (life is short) as our title instead of Ars Longa (art is long). But this choice was more than appropriate; after all, the aim of our journal is to publish work that shows a keen awareness of not only art’s beauty and immortality but life’s toils and finiteness. We want to revive and nourish the rich existential literature that forms when art and the human endeavor collide.

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