Magazine. Poetry. LGBT Studies. ASSARACUS is a quarterly journal of gay poetry, features a substantial collection of work by ten gay poets. ISSUE 02 features poetry by Philip F. Clark, Collin Kelley, Michael Klein, Ron Mohring, Evan J. Peterson, Steven Riel, Sam Sax, Robert Siek, Christopher Soden, and Wonder Dave. Edited by poet Bryan Borland, author of the American Library Association-honored My Life as Adam .
ASSARACUS ISSUE 2 not only continues to publish fine poetry by gifted poets, but it seems to be growing into its image: the cover art for this second issue, titled after the earthbound brother of Ganymede, is 'Fallen Angel', a superb drawing by Michael Moran that sets the story in motion; under the title 'Submit to Assaracus' in the back founder/editor Bryan Borland defines the mission - 'The mission of Siblig Rivalry Press is to develp, publish, and promote outlaw artistc talent - those projects which inspire people to read, challenge, and ponder the complexities of life in dark rooms, under blankets by cell-phone illumination, in the backseats of cars, and on spring-day park benches nest to people reading Baldwin and Angelou. We encourage submissions to ASSARACUS by gay male poets of any age, regardless of background, education, or level of public experience.' All of this now - the art, the name of the mythical two siblings, the mission - gives full understanding of what this unique quarterly journal is all about.
ISSUE 2 contains poems by Wonder Dave, Philip F. Clark, Christopher Soden, Sam Sax, Robert Siek, Collin Kelley, Evan J. Peterson, Steven Riel, Mihael Klein and Ron Mohring, whose little, informed literary poem follows:
FOLLOWING LORCA
He leads me down the wet avenue, his black coat flapping, like the boatman he oars us through the rainy city, shiny taxis skim past in humming slow motion, trains rumble below the streets, muted thunder moans from the grates, he wants to show me something, his white shirt flashes like his teeth, the thin wince I take for a smile, his slick black hair shines like an accident, I'm lost or high or dreaming, I recognize his face, those bruised eyes, the rain, each drop displaces its companions as a crowd gives way for a celebrity, half-touching, half-parting, ringed kisses that open and open, we drift toward the river, the bridge lights crinkle in the water, I know his wound, he wants me there, he doesn't have to ask, when he turns to unlock his mouth I'm ready with my tongue, with my whole drowning heart.
Only the tip of this rich iceberg here and it is unfortunate not to sample each of the men whose works grace these pages. But then that is what draws us to subscribe to this wealth of pleasure. Highly recommended journal, this.