OffCourse Literary Journal

Two Poems and Art, by Stephen Mead.

'Til the Room

is light, let us make shapes,
these limbs a brighter darkness
with sparks from the depths of skin,
immense & red, all pores a melted

Can't I read by your glow?
Can't you catch sight from the braille
Of mine?

Surface to surface, the multi-textured &
The tasting is breathing sound out of a
Shared instrument, is becoming one
Picasso guitar-body, & the notes are

Only air holding us, we, radiance itself,
Learning to lift, pull closer, a dance of
Hands, fingers just tracing to play time
Into timelessness

& by this be carried


Even in Sleep

I hold your tears close,
The curves which conform:
Pink contour to translucent.
Are these cheeks also that wetness,
Those shudders, these arms?
Here hiccoughs shake from rafters
To beams, & we, each other's
Exoskeletal , turn heart soft
With muscle, with pulses
That melt...
Candles could be sculpted so

Art by Stephen Mead



Art by Stephen Mead
Art by Stephen Mead



Stephen Mead is a writer/artist living in northeastern NY.
His home page, with resume and art samples, can be found at


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