





































Commonplace 

By: Carissa Azner-Beane 

There's fish swimming above her ceiling, 
Slithering. Quivering 
Speaking some unknown language. 
The city outside hustles. 
They say its gourmet, but the truth is, 
there are more rats in this town, than there are people -
not rodents. 
Rats. 
Rats dressed in clothing. 
Rats you love and rats you hate. 
She can't believe they left the amazon for this. 

An exhausted human spring. 
She wears her garb and walks to work, 
In wanting to be lost, she finds herself over 
and over again. 

In the roaring sea of crowds, she is not captain. 
Everyone is just a statistic. 
Abhorring a cookie cutter world is frowned upon. 
When everything is cliche 

A trite expression 
A commonplace 
Everybody glitters in the end. 

New York 
Ennui 

The 2011 Analecta Page 94 

They used to say "If Y' 
then kill the widow. I< 
But there is no wido\I 
Only a white-wash of 

as it creeps onto the s 
to miss a snake of ste; 
hissing from beneath 
I wonder if there is a 

slow and sulking ben1 
these sullen tears. An 
in her gray tatters anc 
might extend forwarc 

dull with a cobalt gle< 
at first 
then a silvery candesc 
hot enough to cook ti 

mouth fish gasping in 
the dusky scales shive 
another gasp, long, d( 
A suck of air. 

Just walk past, walk p 
Shut your eyes agains 
promise of transience 
This road won't last fc 

They say that here, he 
is the land of promise 
But there is no wido~ 
All the bony hands ar 

and their bribes 
are a shovel for the gr 
I am too 
dazzled by the web of 

that spiders across th< 
an ephemeral touch 


