EDITORS: Ken Harris, Jim Leftwich

CONTRIBUTORS: Spencer Selby, Jake Berry, Sheila E. Murphy, Michael Basinski, Ann Erickson, Scott MacLeod, Andrew Joron, Alex Cigale, John Noto, John M. Bennett, Heather Thomas

Address: 977 Seminole Trail #331, Charlottesville, VA 22901 E-Mail: SLeftwich@aol.com (Subject line: Juxta/Electronic)

Jake Berry

1. By designating particular works as experimental we dismiss them as
unproven, hypothetical, of questionable veracity. This is our means of
allaying the unknown's imposition on our intellectual security. It is not
until the work is analyzed, cataloged, and finally judged valid that it sheds
its ignominious, obscured and burdened now by whatever aesthetic code may be
in currency. Yet, what we are too apprehensive to witness directly is the
very thing we profess to seek. We erect a shrine that obstructs the
beneficence of the power toward which the original impulse arose. This is an
ancient condition, mythically tragic. We are method's hostage. What we know
of reality is not in what our terminology proposes to address but only the
terminology, as it is an aspect of nature, itself.

2.A poem is not the telling of a thing, but the thing itself utilizing
language, in whatever form (and however the definition of language might be
extended), to transmigrate from one "place" to another. It trans-forms to
awaken to itself in renewed aspect, and to awaken others to its experience.
The poem and poet call one another to a common ground of being, where they
constitute a single entity. To be more specific, a poet is an individual
poetic entity biologically appearing. It speaks, it bodies forth being,
participates in the theater of objects. What might be the essential nature of
such a pansubstantial creature can only be discovered through direct
 confrontation and mutual dissolution with in the shared domain, the
anitpersonal dynamic this union cultivates. We are speaking then of the
phenomenology of the open field. Yet, we must speak in the negative only
since any absolute assertion would only project an apparition onto the field.
The actual projection is the whole field of poet/poem and all participants,
indistinguishable any longer as individuals (and there is much that surely
remains unknown, latent in the field). And further, the field itself, being
open, is never subject to definition, but is realized  through experience,
through communion in the common nature its very appearance makes evident.

3. Finally, we should not concern ourselves with the establishment of
movements or schools, by the name 'experimental' or any other. There is
nothing noble in relinquishing our presence here to the status of artifact,
shelved, another moment documented and weighed against the rest, even if that
moment is granted fundamental importance. It falls on us to strive for a
cognizance liberated from static ideologies and subservience to the symbol.
The histories must be ended and the museums closed (they both are, as we now
have them, closed anyway). We must find value in the moment's appearing
rather than the misapprehended corpse of its past. With that approach it is
our responsibility to be and allow creations presence that have in their
character no tolerance for the spirit of closure no more than any other
organism can tolerate imprisonment. They are creatures without dimension, the
living courses of liberation through the infinite.
Sheila E. Murphy


The one who painted himself insecure to others kept using the word toast as
if to beg the power of a talisman to coat his shack with bullet-proof
transparency.  If victimed by the fact of a transparency.  Many acres since
have been inhaled into his possession.  Headlock mates with slides the
heart's eye makes. He races to unfinish lines before his hypothetical
opponents can consider factual arrivance.  Do they make fun of his cleats,
his hand tooled pistol, vats of acid he owns shares of.  Do they make fun of
eyes that fathom poverty as he has known it and consistently misplaces into
future tense.  Do they see all the way into his bones to know no blue blood
he would feign can swim in that vicinity.  Do they reduce or see him evenly.
The one with life to prove yet wears a petproof winter in which shepherdly
behavior leaks a frothed blue breath above the cars.  Would any shoulder
minus sainthood let his head be there.  He wouldn't question custom.  Only
would continue his embodiment of big screen things no one can tender
very long inside a heart however stretched toward forgiveness.

Sheila E. Murphy


Prom queen glibly as a print embodied muscularity of artist's line not
bandaged from her whole heart.  Through my fault, through my fault, through
my most grievous...shells made fragrant through erosion.  Downtime seemed
maternal.  She line segmented a cough, made plain the diseconomy of
splintering.  Bruised texts, up for renewal for which she was instructed to
remember code word anguish from the hot line.  Untended parks once neutral
places left their hinges.  Watching became the highest form of flattery,
sand grains entering the winded place of children.  Forethought requiring
that one conquer through division the prime number feminine.  Much charted
waters attributed to blank space in the equation.

Cornerstone, pure water, software, a hotel

Michael Basinski

nupid cupital
eel elm allusion
awl arch
emballing the lover's ear
encircle a more in music
never mute
will hear the lowest bus

to the use of the tongue
chance dance a sovereign
throne torn thorn thorny squeal
peel! and fill'd feel flock of
forest all so hearted O lOve list
wish lust knot must longer longing
graze on my lips or upon ship
sip rose hip tic
tock but her jesses (thongs

As the height
corresponds to the length
of the possessing zone
neglecting the term of the sun
and defining
the mean residence
time is given
Spencer Selby


Tale of wicked dawn
outside image weapon
makes me accomplish
consent ravenous

Narcotic asserting
furtive and vocal
given to like advantage
enduring the day
the mind the house scatter
dark room speech
covenant no way obscure
paradise hollow dream
in suicide past

Strike bulging maze
said generation now
almost sky fear abandon
one another

Eat matter in public intimate
rage stone not look force
within killing words
broken cutting burning
between your millions hidden
and paid for empty

Written with a shut door
spinning faster body
to inhabit when I'm
out in the cold or stuck
in midway country

Put down drop ever wealth
return years' foothold
foreign music lost on
such deep liquid

Heaven sent ground motive
blazing shell street current
hand in the way of desire
becoming helpless

Rain over miracle sign
needle facing inward light
mountain roots of power
finds me more at the start

Spencer Selby


Life again set off
by chatter
ring  around it rushing
perverse material
defended like it was a hymn

Press seed charge from
roots that narrow
soft blow begging brightness
weary intimate
voice of age in advance

Together with the only
world I know for certain
flower petal eros nature
down the appetite I'm hearing
with my head

I've seen black eye
to carry habit
look nothing break loose
total be granted
more work fall apart
shadow I promoted

Now years after
there is plenty earth moaning
at my embrace hidden in
shades of dramatic
give it a chance

Instincts reawaken
what I didn't think
was action needs quiet
blood trail and damage
of a very rare moment

No silence touches remorse
as larval quality
no tangent temporal feeling
remains in the past
I point toward in my
strung out wish

Spencer Selby

REFRAIN            for J.T.

    "The opposite of a correct statement is a
    false statement.  But the opposite of a
    profound truth may well be another
    profound truth."
                                  --Niels Bohr

Gifts are free gifts
in a room I believe unexposed

Line to line words to action
uniform mark on the left of history
space immediate on all sides always
a poem about singing reasons for singing
vibration period circle numerous
glass to knowledge door to meaning
and back around the price we pay
death to shadow medium forgetting
continuous negative pains to harden
loop to loop talent for crossing
posture pose beneath above
infinite number battle with motive
ring for wonder surprising dominant
room of light remaining in darkness
divine affliction around and around
what it is you answer what it is I question

In the middle unfolding
in the present we're trying to have
Scott MacLeod


being freely passed from hand to hand
we can only react to it with complete disdain
forget the reciprocal nature of its duties
above all confessions of men obsessed
against any and all professional risks
the simplistic theatrical portrayal of the beyond
[into a diamond, all blind and interior]
these footsteps occur in a region
desire to proceed beyond the insufficient
hold it to be specifically modern
[to hold the cult of men in deep distrust]
unhesitatingly the notion of jumping off the track
all the betrayals lost their footing
[too late for the seed]

burned, if we can believe his words
for derisive laughter rumbling
is not any number of men
constituting a closed circle
for the suppression of everything
and informers run around loose, the time lost in waiting
years, leaves them perplexed, psychic force by a
means which is nothing, an animal from a
flame or stone -- heaven help the most typical and
characteristic, though it were true conviction
I mean of the acceptance or the
nonacceptance of this regime, no way competitive
partly understood, confused, in defiance
our allegiance to the principle
of historical materialism

there is no way to play on these words
noticeable decline in the ideological level
of the most undesirable intellectuals
a progressive loss of awareness, this control
cannot be exercised in political circles
"working" and scheming together,
[a pleasure seeker] in a harum-
scarum sort of way
in less time than it takes
to tell those mysterious friends
forced to confess the talent and force of Trotsky
(your name grows larger week by week)

such divergences, about-faces and betrayals of confidence
wheat from the chaff, the sincere problem of human expression
as though for the pleasure of travelling, dumbfounded at first
admirably and perversely, to annihilate this ridiculous romanticism
anything but the first cry, sovereign and limitless
truly harrowing, finding its end in itself
and aspiring only to serve
just as pointless to protest
no longer any "useless mouths"
shamelessly castigating
hitherto exercised to the full extent of its powers
torpedoing...the idea in the midst of the sentence, he retires
into the happier world no one had ever dared conceive of
lucid, awake, he would be terrified, capable of opening
that how-to-swim, into the water, now forced to say
completely consumed the other beneath the tropical stars
of all human constraints the ridiculous tradition
young after the passage of centuries, this reconciliation
rendered absolutely impossible
the baleful bread to the birds

the sordid quests for every integrity
to run absurdly, learning it
in snatches, submitting oneself anew
to discipline, befouled, senile,
rank, sordid, lewd, doddering

the fact of the matter is that M. Battaille is simply very tired

the light that will cease to fail
brief beauty concealed
dangerous sentiment of living

welcomes the discharge of his sad rifles
Ann Erickson

(having lost all)

the moon is (like
the Turkish flag)
below the star
and the sky
like smoke
in stripes
of blue
and green
and red

Ann Erickson

cult leader waits for a sign from god

assuming the rational but having taken
my pleasure in the universe I cannot be
disturbed by dropping bombs
I await orders from the semaphores
of hyacinth        the signal plum
battalions of daffodils
smiles of the shopkeepers           freebox clothes
donations of salads       mailbox existence
the sun blares wisps of clouds
dark reasoning video screen
recollection lost            where are the files
John M. Bennett


Past the luminescence-ceiling crawled flow of noodles
steps shine bath oil and light I eat my shirt with
parsley garlic lick the radiant bulbs with heat slowed
//clicking in the flower bled where's, under, hawk
chatter swaying table//OK, was you, over, the last
tumescence reeling through your small law//knew less
brine, wrath of//boiling kites and feet sly hurts
lists hardly ticking.  The "Radiant Bulbs" with meat
glowed mixing in the shower-head//air's plunder
gawking nattered preying's fable (Oklahoma's blood)
the new sower's task (effacing, peels of skin,,,,,

John M. Bennett


Spam truth sun sings fatty wind the looser tooth
reserves loitered phone or puling armpit hair,
slats of putrefaction stones fall off your foot
noose returns charming lists of repetition better
than.  Your bones in guttered rain of birds...

John M. Bennett


Pall ignored chants of seed chance stayed sandy
table glass floor ladder stepped within your
swept delay across the roof wings of acid wash
or clothes oasis stacking trucks I guess, the
tense display of rust vapid chaw or else.
Asking stuck shawl slept (planted in the gas
tank roots
Andrew Joron


Just as Chaos keeps its hidden orders -- assuming that Beauty
is beyond scale -- if, &  only if its iteration is driven to
Fury -- so you have crosst my Tongue with the oldest knife.

Skepticism must ban the sight of Utopia:  a straight line is
the deepest labyrinth.  Natural language has no author.  The
reddening of the landscape coincides with the movements of a

Fascicle 1
The first line was completely crossed out, the second barely
legible.  The words were enumerative and blood-linked.  Each
possessed a shadow that hovered over us in the shape of a
hand; abode of a star-gripped paralysis repeated in the gestures
of Inhuman objects.

Fascicle 2
The terms were perfect sections of the voice, skewed in
consequence of a dreamt assassination.  The letters, neither
flame-like, nor flower-like in that world without sound, were
aligned within a lacerating machinery.  Denuded, then left to
wander through rooms of interlocking narrative.

Do immeasurable spaces exist inside one point?  Here, you have
painted the walls to purify my eyes, littered the floor with
objects too cold to touch.  Yet I am consoled by your philosophy
of the Infinite Cage.
Alex Cigale

Angelton -- James Jesus

Nervous spies always crave locked mouths.  Your staff,
your Honetol victims were tested looks.
The uses of your ancient safes to conceal the
identities of spies from loose security
were substantially safe, "beyond peer review",
"worse, no one had the combinations",as

you played favorite W.C. Fields with
roll-top desks filled with deliberate "detritus"
a bodyguard of lies concealing "the
precious Nick Nack marine file", sound long term
precautions to safeguard the exits of spies
who trusted you alone.  You didn't believe

in the technology, weren't going to share
information through terminals blinking secrets
throughout the building.  An "elusive mole" was able
to "blink" computer secrets just as your alleged
"paranoia" foresaw.  (See:  Index, The Cold
Warrior, "Angelton James Jesus -- paranoia of".)

When the great battle was over the gravediggers
came and, while cutting their dead throats, told the
corpses what they had done wrong.  "Angelton did not
believe in the technology."  You and the ancient
"Grandpa" safe mocked on agency parade
will always march in the First Cohort of spies

that accepts seared beaten warriors as normal.
Still you would not disclose, not even to your death
in dishonor, the identity of Nick Nack(s)
held by you in so silent a place the inevitable
traitor could be identified in some distant
year on activation.  You alone correctly

foresaw what would destroy world trust in the
capacity of the covert services
to keep their mouth shut.  The final disaster.
Marlowe and Helen still carry the Eagle on a
Trojan horse with Nick Nack and Ann not far behind.
Did Nick Nack die?  Not while your safes had him.

Where is "Grandpa"?  Clearly your Fermi
Accelerator Laboratory for
the wisdom of ancient treason, always
and forever bringing mirrors to Mother
from the Cockroach Universe of spies,
endlessly recoding into your DNA

computer bases the precise mutation
to mass defined on impact by the elusive
scattered particles of new treason, flipping
the coded bases the norm calls errors
to razor balance mirrored Dirac
universes, CJD fusing Angelton

neurons by infinite mirror coding
into strong forces top vomit quarks mutating
by pulse down the DNA spine of your and Kim's
beloved great spongiform game of Trojan
basics:  if two mouths know the name of a spy
spies die.  Ask the Guardian Editor!

You are entitled to a closing argument.
John Noto


Late last night on microcassette
I felt ribbons flown in the beaks of sparrows
slash the lips of metropolitan aexual steel
gliding over crucible landscapes
in patient stilettos

Voice activated
through lipstick banners of blood
and current drawn from small reaching hands
you've wired
eyes for crying down incestual cheeks
spilling over with rouge and flour

Shaped like a bright doughy bird
cut from paper dolls
for a cat's eye
sucked through the failure-to-please conjunction

I reel
in the shadows of your knees
in daughter-of-the-nails
fatherhood on hard-drive

living in the age of writhing
on-screen strange tender dreaming

toothmarks deeper than I thought
gnawing your temples
my palms

Grasp the glandular language
tuning speech amplitudes honed to knives
pulled across two mouths
intercourse sectioned to kill
phonics screaming
your voiceprint on my lips
disassembles me
Scott MacLeod

our territorial admission and denial
[whatever.   nevermind.]
albeit at intervals
well spaced

out from one the other.


he knows what women
he has had                              [daily more discontent]
abandons a portion of the
terrain there remains
madness, the generous

Some German girls with birds in their hands.

The author attacks a character.  Where we
really find them again is (at the point)

where Stendhal has lost them.

by far the most important
part below the surface in a waking
[preceding day, dark foliage, stupid branches]

I am sorry to have to speak about it
idea, this woman, disturb it,
only the marvelous
(long) before the author has been freed
painfully inflicted, the spirit
of demoralization.

                          we contemplate taking
                          it seriously:  regions clearly


                          sibylline for the

irrevocably my point of view.

deriving from hunger,
akin to spoken thought,
offering this one

                          [one of the sonnets composed]

in this supernatural dream-state,
in malice,
simply to orchestrate the marvelous score.

of so many echoes

literature is one of the [saddest]
roads that leads to nowhere, silence
(threatens) to settle in, incapable
of failure, against death,

                          highly unlikely.

there is no conversation

in which some trace of this
[disorder] does not occur.

mysterious effects and special
pleasures.  beauty of the
spark obtained, these


which enrapture it

equally imperfect, dangerous and
inadmissible territory

a burst of laughter, daily artisan in memory.

when that happens, this system is as good
as any other, indifferent to all
the world's ballets.

existence [is] elsewhere.


this time only the man with the shortest memory survives

       (inside now, how far can we go?)

he will dig a hole

       (the obsolescence of a hand-made life)

in hypertime
only leavings, arrivals

       (screen of special effects)

he will dig a hole and plant
late bloomers with shared history we can only invent

trees, a broad-leaf magnolia protruding
tied with a red bandana
half the people in America are looking for

       (inside now, how far can we go together?)

setting the light, washed away
in the glare of version upon version
Jake Berry



     5 blue legs
    grown from the bark.
      and waves of moss
   pour through her eyes
   pulsing fossils in rays
      nailed to rock
   oracle bone
    wept to choke
 neon bleat te deum
   schek-idl-loam :||


       paschal lamb glistens
              stethescope blue
tin     .       Venus      .      lavender
         lapse into hypervalic seizure

      cool length
      of worlds strung
           through diaphanous wells or eons
   randomly dispersed in
exquisitely decorated rooms
    across an antique couch
                lost in the stain


   tinsel ivory
   deer thistle steel

        roam is scales at rusting
                     lunation phase
                ground to dust
     where Draco bolts
        from twin graves
     across the threshold
         a covenant adultery baal
   pissed to fission stigmata
          wheat achings flood

#3b (mesopotamia)

         -dorphin: prolog green

    labial refradction barley weight
                6 to measure &
        each worker his
         mettle enough to conspire
   betray isotopic
   fresh catilage wound these
            pulleys failed
  sediment: bone partial
                  upper plate, sinus vault
 holy is to meat the bargain


         tithes in leather
    law breaks an abhuman rite
      inversions fixed to clay
  spokes catherine dead elegance
abuse salivating tiers of
              corpse & treacle
  dollar-a-mug till 9
    commands sloth his revenge


flame hollow edge
clangs rack in pelvic cage,
       sol mare ab-synthe
      preterdeciduous winged
           cloy mantle
  the arguments' cynical buttress
     shoals where reeking carp
              soothes idolatry
        miniscule teeth aloud


    ouranous spread violenly
   the ledger of bullets detailed
         ashen   :    extremities
         ovary    :    (deletion)
             imaging pox and rat shale
                      wagon leaved
 with Cypress Osiris scattered
 full-throttle drivetrain mollusk

"her performance as pigeon hingedx
       (a murmuring flight)

#7 (anticon)
           for Jim Leftwich

       future lapsed into Lethe
against dry swollen
         legs ache for no reason
   movements toward naming
  designating "that which"
  some non-particular invoked
      from hole, vowel
         sun infinitude
So why designate-define?
     The chisel is toy to
                  ejaculate web


Marium thrust her large hands
into her pockets
      found the match
    till clumsily borne jackyls
 pose antiquities
         nitrate plow shifter
Ovid screwed the badger royal
         & found Black Sea
   in teapcup, food processor,
                    distillery heaved
              the vitals into his lap