POETRY THE 2010 ANALECTA 
Impressions from The Bottom Lounge 
rebecca PELKV 

A sweet voiced boy with an acoustic guitar sings sharp lines 
And it sounds like irony when he says fuck. 
He hides eyes that they admire behind a mane 
A shouted name 
But he bleeds from the strings 
And his soul spills from vocal chords 
Onto the pitted cement floor littered 
With paper ticket stubs 
And crushed plastic cups. 

lfl saw him 
Here in the harsh 
Light of day 
I could not neglect the naked 
Insulation hanging 
From rusted wire 
Above damp concrete and 
The cobweb of cords and chains 
That secure the stage 
And amplify 
A melody. 

But tonight we are only 
Crescent reflections of blue 
And pale on long hair 
And the angle 
Of a face 

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While the cameras flash his s 
On the black curtain 
Backdrop 
And these stop-motion shado 
Him in context 
Fade too soon. 



While the cameras flash his silhouette 
On the black curtain 
Backdrop 
And these stop-motion shadows of 
Him in context 
Fade too soon. 

THE 2010 ANALECTA 

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