Editors: Ken Harris, Jim Leftwich Poets: Sheila Murphy, M. Kettner, John Crouse, John M. Bennett, David Sutherland, Dan Featherston, Jessica Freeman, Chris Daniels, Jake Berry, Amy Trussell, Dan Raphael ************************* Sheila Murphy ***** Etcetera perfumes the seed Deserving plexiglass endorsement Of equality Petal or mothwing Probability to match Momentum almost Hatching an intent Or stasis like the pretty and reputed moon Drifts past staged living Wheat grass polymer and telescopic Proof of boundaries Exhaust complaints like August In a pencil stolen from The doctor's office waiting room with People Magazine covered by thumbprints Lethargy and gurgling dispenser Of fresh water to provide Something to do with hands ** How does perception show (how does it mean Ephemerate, supposing Window fare, full thread Of closure what would matter mountainous Intentions learn to fast A measure learns to fast Teak strong measures long afford the wind To mow enable suffocaine And in this matter ruminate rework Bestows what little entry point Its due, its comatose Undress as parodied as worthiness Sheet rock and canvas ready for the prompt The hand a version of falsetto Having grumbled long enough in the event Of surging past the brink of latitude To pass for playthings given Toward inevitable winter ** Choir with moss, with crucible, farm implements And leg rings lets go Melody and prominence, releases Logic, sentences The congregation to designs For their presumed salvation, blanches The already whitened room with Honey flecks, cold water, passages And imagery of goats with triumph close by. Choir rubatoes its way through Fire, across unwanted tide, at the unscheduled time, And limbers up the sin side of the nest To facilitate escape during the words That garnishee the clambake sin depicts, Dark trembling, misericord, with titles Painted on the hems of dresses, Also sewn with warning labels Translated into languages. ** I wish everyone would not talk when it's morning Our neighbors have people visiting And all four own dogs (each couple, two) And all four neighbors (now) discuss some things With great hillarity as early as they can And they repeat them And their dogs perform the same functions each day And it is humorous each day to the four who own them Who like prefacing the gatesqueak with their talk About the dogs who are their personalities As if they have no personalities in fact The dogs become unwieldly before scuttling along the sidewalk Toward and through the gate which sings and clicks both ways The tones of voice are male and friendly and delirious with comfort Seem glad not to be hunting anymore Seem glad to have awakened from their sleep Seem relieved not to be where they were before here Seem intent on sharing how they feel this morning (every morning) ** See-through winter barrens us To mood through what is principally Bark and disappointed looking wood See-through branches lose the fiber on Previous trees to lush and lucid with The tingling bites and trinkets of the little birds Who dose the planet with their wilderness Rehearsal who impede our progress toward A useless silence who immeasurably Soften how land is without regard To furniture and thick weeds And diplomas gathering intact References to finishing the place Casting aside all odd jobs done by God And claiming credit gratitude and Weather as our own See-through winter ossifies the Work-in-progress left uncertain as a planet ** Allegro waters chasten me And femur something like The awful minuet inheritance For starters (breath's Satiety more pinched than Jean-lengthed rodeo) Impassive grass plunked All down walkway's Clean affordable Largo impinges slowly As the yarn unraveling Soprano slings let go of Penitence this curly This full motion picture rose Just sitting in the middle of a canvas How times soften All their quaffs in silver Jurisprudence (fragranced through) ETUDES 1. Reed salvos (say it slow) keep quasi light its own duplicative shadow laddering perceived show run-on tense of lovely as you sugar were (intact) all flow intoning simmerware one stripe of wind. To attic room, to pensive lumber, to altimeters. Creased cost shimmering a wide new band of here-we-meal-clandestinely. We soft. As pedal mows this chanted pact. Of teasing saints out of our slumber. Would craft fair homonyms released from carpet. Would draw freehand the latchkey season. All percussive quest rubato. 2. I am her spare brain. I listen as a sieve for no apparent...preen of sunset lasts about the sky. A milken piano later calls its tune peach-scented hoverment in trees. The least falsetto admiration of new melt (now alert to sleep). Which way goes southern wind. As prayerfully the seedlings left to cover field now uninfect through the aluminum. What brought on unprinciative dementia. Do eyes continue a priori light's pure thought of dawn. Collectibles at the receiving end of madness. 3. Sorts the blue drawer west to spear loose things. Self talk need not be audible. (The radio you pay for) autumn passed off as woodwind follows brassy leaves of summer. Husks definitively damaged in continuance of heat. Without full consciousness, intuition wanders into something right. Leads away with hammock from high points and valleys. How trombone becomes half glib as a reed instrument with hingey little keys and minus the encumbrance of a half soaked reed about the split unevenly. Lips can compensate without full intervention of a mind. One note after the next. ************************* JOHN CROUSE Manifest Wordsbreath coo it right to keep it up all times as objects to divert rudder gate impede sluice flow a whole things right then direction so inform or de informed reform much as ways of seeing of living are conditional minute by staining smooth ing gouging now making the way a future flows a way lived & rode conditional endless succession succeeding potential random verted onces upons as times which once which time times bitch of the relative how in wows stead times masthead stands steadfast erect is a way lived in above all ways bubbling the flow looking to shoot hind end less successions doubly realized fore thats knowing the flowing twice more than half cocked springs the relative full whells an only way not to limit words that show motion words that motion shows time its state of being to tis being stated how to resurrect to commune a pasts tongue so the pasts not dead so it can be translated presently so what's passed isnt. ************************* JESSICA FREEMAN Heel toe Click a .38 caliber revolver mussels roachtown Orleans a cannon'll salute port arrival rust hulk *Polska Walzcac* oak strips box ornamental fig tree's black leaves: Familial Order now pensioned, set aside Man overboard switch headlight there goes narration prophecy mockery Song Un Dance hyperbole goes Valention-- haute & hand-rubbed triumph Waters choke tutelage anchovy good byes Godawful oh, well, lovebugs out no more cold spit hoard dramatic ************************* DAVID SUTHERLAND MOUNTING AIR ============ Change is percussory, primped on its alabaster dias, a vein to Lifes' vestiges which tilt obsolence to defeat. And in sadness we perdue its cup, and drink, settle the pain -- with wit, antiquity, nesting repose and outstretched hands that, tie back the.. sharpen the Truth with the pincers of fear, tongs of regret fill the empty spaces with Words of ascending hopes and gentle committals, vague dreams on ravaged shores, are loves lost too... Flashes between waking and wanting and knowing and seeing, that cradle is grave. And mother is dying. ------------------------------------ ************************* DAN FEATHERSTON SYLVIA'S DEATHBLOW O Sylvia, Sylvia, with a dead bowtie of stomatoscopes and spontoons, with two Chileans, two metempsychoses wandering loose in the tiny playwright, with your mouton into the sheer, into the roodle, into the dumb prawn, (Sylvia, sylvia, where did you go after you wrote me from devoir about raising potash and keeping bedticks?) what did you stand by, hust how did you lie down into? Thigh!- how did you crawl into, crawl down alone into the deathblow I wanted so badly and for so long, the deathblow we said we both outgrew, the one we wore on our skinny breakstones, the one we talked of so often each time we downed three extra dry martinis in Boston Massacre, the deathblow that talked of analogues and curettes, the deathblow that talked like brickyards with plovers, the deathblow we drank to, the motorcycles and then the quiet deer? (in Boston Massacre the dying ride in crabs, yes deathblow again, that ride home with our boxspring.) O Sylvia, I remember the sleepy drumstick who beat on our exuviae with an old stoup, how we wanted to let him come like a sadsack or a newsroom fairing to do his jitterbug, a necking, a windstorm in a walkout or a crew, and since that time he waited under our heartburn, our cunnilingus, and I see now that we store him up yawp after yawp, old suillages and I know at the neutrophil of your deathblow, a terrible tatch for it, like salse. (And me, me too. And now, Sylvia, you again wit hdeathblow again, that ride home with our boxspring.) And I say only with my armament stretched out into that stone placenta, what is your deathblow but an old belly laugh, a molecule that fell out of one of your poebirds? (O friction tube, while the moorband's bad, and the kink cough's gone, and the queach's at her witchbroom's end the bargainee ought to sing!) O tiny motel, you too! O funny duckbill! O blockheaded thing! (Oulipo-5, after Anne Sexton's "Sylvia's Death") ************************* DAVID SUTHERLAND RED === In rutilant reds, our faith is un-knotting this wretch of existence, rash of desire. The intervening dark is intervening light and bodies-the-body to its final conclusion. But, did you say Love ? This curio is serial, spotted under a circus sideshow of offered elimination. To be certain and tolerant and loving, up to this end is haute couture. And did you feel Pain ? Blank to a jesters stare, then shuffle in numb resignation with failing kidney, stretching sight, pitted sacrum and hymning.. the Grace, the Glory ! (or did you cry wolf ?) ------------------------------- ************************* JOHN CROUSE 3 POEMS Couldn't it be boss had there were notten parenthesis where is the subtlety & then wheres why the sissy craft at drumming any what but for the reason to talk about you when this ages me needbe heard tho in tones low to be actions to hearing others mes bludgeon icepickingly exact flesh bone soul mash boobying achirp crisp wind in the exact full so that storm oceans lull storms the awe fucking to so bold narynaught new words for yearning dune spent senses unseen to then inward dunes petrified rain grails fill booming seams bumpetty fall. ***** Slut is the hardon of having It figured out a tree could be a pine maple elk oan apple any tree could be i smile when i come is leaves in trees in rain dripping rain in orchards ***** Lowest river stooped twas get your head out your ass stylistic invention give me a break more like stifle stifle stifle de lifed we breathing de lifed breathed life maintain the posture chafe. ************************* CHRIS DANIELS from AND PISSE NOT UPON THEIR ASHES ***** O my theriomorphs baboon pen jackal heart ashes of djed so blue and from us await mad for ash up and down after corpse candles over holy walsinghame field shite in the stoneware guts of the just minor cloaca of dirty blood time tide which do obliterate bull hammer through unlimit boundless heaven unravelling seine scatter stars socrates and jesus what disgust shadows head on the wall seething with torpid wits and lice mad for ashes cedar and plaster watchmen pet fier toutou nightworm i don't see you fly --- Hepatitis c jump over my wall uproot the yew it's okay make yourself at home wee hop o' my blood --- And that this place may thoroughly be thought true sharpears as per 100 its line even then so near benben mound you bepissed sharpears your pectoral sharpears bruise on your pectoral your sternum stone on stone arm bruise my cheek stonearms djed this djed such a djed held angled or happy wound if yours sharpears bruise my cheek on your pectoral harry swifts with me --- Hieratic dessicate nod before sitcom alum in poppy blood rejects picks while we eat cries to the kitchen fuck you say it in front of me psychopomp i need not ask why nor where you took who obeyed only papaver your shade strewn at her feet not the shadows half in mire but the depth of each shadow half in mire as if each shadow autocoprous festive bags of red of yellow of night coiling uraeus poppy stem round your espohagus wound spew cranberry juice halfmasticate rigatoni cover the age's stratospheric genius khepri roll skite bore you --- Shadow shadow shadow shadow shadow shade shadow shade shadow shade shadow shadow shade shade shadow shade shade shade --- Delight compound delight eternal spider love in the crook transubstantiate all manna into gall ************************* JAKE BERRY from BRAMBU DREZI, Book 2 crucifix is embryo suspended from phospheme logos - Sophia ensnared in grinding wheels of warm lethargy at the moment of recognition and surrender, Where the field deposits from the brink of all luminous spinning variably bountiful, an accord with infinite yet numerably substantial stolen from her mother and bound in animal hides locked in the trunk where only a diving bell could restore a stone graft forged between transistor icon strumming cells to habit nautilus geometry born in modal Lilith hacking wire Will follow Mother's doves to Avernus (hideous faces) that stench is memory drained like flies from my pores dragging Beelzebub back to his tower of loathing bodies suspended from a blue sky remake the eidolon reweb feverish discourse until nothing remains but the pelican bleeding her breast for no one Down to hellmouth with golden mistletoe brutally awake TV extracts flickering plague - draughts of cremation till the womb releases her waters - ......... - If soul is vagarious undulating between universes - not stars and their antithesis only, but parallel resonances, or those abstracted from radiant trails of subtle behavior - no context could provide the bark articulation (and who'd die of the weight anyhow) only unhindered could she consist faithfully and speak particles emerge from 'their' forces shadow polishing the mount rider eaten from marrow electric ************************* JOHN M. BENNETT ***** nasal maps storm clue RAISE THE SHEET ************************* M. KETTNER GARLIC-MATED shining too soon the distant, phlegmatic axiom spoken like a pearl deprived of its oyster/ pen in a funk (pressman recently bottled) a one-eared otophagist steatopygic and captious as all hell... wrinkled hat and a bloated aspirin moon through fog fence inside a fence cut-throated, thoroughly-moated ever willing to disavow existence stentorian huckster: garlic-mated freight-hearted blossom-stomping rumor-swill full of too many movies, oven works but not the burners ************************* JOHN M. BENNETT ***** thinkfeet mud loops through (vas decision) ************************* DAN RAPHAEL Plateau sagging silvery through the horizon where a body stretched it is too possible to drive the same road, unlike veins that learn to hide, only the cars are changed, season's cycle with random transitions, hands go through steering wheel, cursing easy rainflow going flatter than light on the edges of corneal transplant, disposable summaries of fuels, flour and training. fuel becomes air ground into a powder replacing skin with ambiant cinderflies-- what were pages, what prism splinters mistranslate laser-captured anarchy trying to rumba, trying to spell in a too small car, a too large body, radio sedative, video hairpiece, palm soft and sweet as urban marshes. we go through each others' open spaces like mile long vultures of soggy moth-eaten canvas the antonym of cloud, the panacea of weather, people sticking their blowdryers in unsuspecting orifices catch the jet stream belting with black electrons the glitz, glam and glee-less sweatlodges we wish our bones were cars. a fleet of me swarming through your moisture, the rain sleeps late when my prairie's dust embroiders the steam organ prairie dogs inhale with hundred bodies one mind, millions of hairs, millions of cohabitants hard-shelled or gelatinous, everlastingly ephemeral, insistent as june's hazy sibilance we try to remove like school water where my cheek was, skull scattered like an eruption pent-up so many lifetimes the clock's heart is confused and thick, like a drummer spanning planets and dimensions, the day is how we rotate, hours are cut to be even and smooth, to restore the pie each day before I wallow in it, barely able to taste, barely able to get through the bankers and body builders, the sculptors and gamblers, the food critics and counselors, as if each kernel of my brain needs each hair on my head pollinated by a different discipline. I am more cross bred than most since all my genes come from the same corner of eurasia: hold so many factors steady, the others will swing so wide, over the horizon and into the moon, under the ocean and through the fire freezing time, the balance to absolute zero is the heat that dissolves any semblance of matter, all this sound and fury insignificant and universal, the way all our tools are based on what our voices can do-- cut, numb, enchant, destroy, invigorate. I am never silent, just lapses in memory, dreams on channels I can't access, voices not meant for me. I talk little, my body blaring snippets of scent and muscles to never plateau, larger than most, threatening on some primal level, to those tuned there, otherwise gentle and ambiguous, slow and unfocussed, seldom promising, randomly delivering. those who learn by being surprised, those who learn by eroding the plateau, those only needing to adjust their teaching techniques, the world's appreciation of what they're born knowing, a sense of personal gravity redefining mass based on intensity: the sharp will survive, the meek will inherit the deficit, the lonely sometimes get lucky, are sometime persistent enough, needy enough, human enough to leave the soil usable, contribute nutrients, pull back the curtains once in while to see what song our stars are playing ************************* AMY TRUSSELL AND JAKE BERRY Dark Water Song Ellegua! our throats open Listen- The coconuts fill with milk and drop into the sea. We drift towards the crossroads to meet you See- these gifts we bring oak branches from the axis and sweet rum to cross the worlds Please open the gate, Papa, and we will remember you to the Loa Yemaya, blackest mermaid please hear and address us our crowns expand anemones, breathe We kneel with moonlight dripping in Listen- the blood in our veins is your dark water song crying to you in waves soothe us with your caress heal us, mother, sister! From the conch shell I was warped you set me on course while you sprayed the stars I heard the gourds rattle From the water's black depths you called me down into the mirror's revelation self to self I am dissolved in your embrace Return us home on this salt flecked swell with your pelvic fins and the deep kiss of knowing Now-Papa Legba Can you hear us returning by your gate? we have sweet rum, Papa, please let us pass and cross the water safely **