EDITORS:  Jim Leftwich, Ken Harris
Special thanks to Taz Delaney
CONTRIBUTORS:  Clemente Padin, Amy Trussell, Eric Basso, John High, Nico
Vassilakis, Jim McCrary, Holly Day, John M. Bennett, Anabasis, Jeffrey
Little, Jake Berry, Karoline Wileczek


nico vassilakis


Anticipation of light inside the funambulist.
New crayolas green sleep on reams of paper. she collects stepladder 
The concave collapses. the details of a painting no photons reach.
Light finds you. it radiates from the core of a succulent. wanting what
wont break or breakdown. "does the brain fill the head down
to the chin?" "I think the brain looks like a necklace" precious stones
roll out his mouth for weeks.
A stapled together frame propped against the back seat. a dashboard
Open o incline. o wander water. open. open sideways.
Instructional flowers. trace an object. expert clamps keep it in place. we
stop nowhere but to rest. lightning and sky.
Strong equestrian knees. the brain doubles it. in larger animals there is
the weight to consider. also the separate hemispheres of its eyes.
Sweet night bent paddling in a pond. water so still it lifts like a page.
as any scoop of dark. the measurements still in tact.
An empire dressed in light. from the base of the shaft it will be built in
one unbroken measure.
Focus forms human forms. water forms round forms. fog forms swirling
forms. mosaic forms concrete forms. formula forms linguistic forms.
residual forms continuous forms. we project a funnel on its side.
A song. for our part we touch. completing circles. let otherwise
open-ended. and what is this for?
A blue stalk in her hands or perhaps reflection. fumes enter his nose. 
Peripheral shots in a hallway of magnets. he is prepared for her. some
demeanor of light. seeing and moving converge.
We undress the wheel. we imagine scaffolding. we invent equations for
The kind of dust you write your name in. it's never morning it's always a
pipe. you build a house. there's skin and hair everywhere.


Jim McCrary


all that glitters

'gold in mexico'

and long island sound

did frida realize

'all that'

800 is nothing

[come with me
to see the sea]

how ever it falls

we can only play for rain

not just any cloud

covers all nature

by its roll and pitch


islands trolly runs


no more pointed stuff

another co

'what if'


the pilot says this

SHE didnt say a word





Clemente Padin


                         All unspeakable
                          that mediates
                        between this verse 
                         and the next one

                             is poetry.


                         plane & plain plate.
                        Selenite in the night.
                              FULL MOON

                           (here a circle)


                           Take 1 paratext
                               l5 substantives
                                l adjetive
                                2 conjunctions
                                4 verbs
                                1 adverb
                                1 article
                                5 prepositions
                                1 pronoum
                               12 numbers
                             and signs of punctuation.
                             Mix in a leaf of paper
                                     disposing the words
                                     in harmonious verses
                                   its is ready.

                           POEM FOR TO READ WITH CLOSED EYES

                                                  to John Cage.


                                    Composed word
                                  written in English
                              that consist in 12 letters
                              which disposition in space
                                 can harmonise itself
                                      in 7 verses
                                       (or more).


Eric Basso

                          OCTOBER NIGHTS

                        long ago the ocean
                        heaved and covered
                        the stars with the
                        shadows of ancient

                        two legless horses
                        still rock by moon
                        light teetering in
                        the falling leaves

                        one with a sparrow
                        in its teeth wings
                        fluttering up into
                              a tree

                        one that waits for
                        me gills breathing
                        with the hiss of a
                        bellows at the end
                            of my yard

                Halloween 1976


                        in that room above
                                  the barn
                           with nothing to
                          light the yellow
                        papers he had car-
                        ried this far in a
                        wheelbarrow up the
                          gravel road with
                           the last of his
                        hoarfrost fogging
                        the windows behind
                        which he was
                        a dark blur
                        other journeys
                        he had made and
                        would make again
                                by night
                             waiting for
                        someone to knock
                        at the door
                        and offer
                         a book of matches

                November 16, 1976

                              THE ZONE

                        we tried to raise up
                        our heads but it was
                              no good
                        too many dead leaves
                        had come between our
                        eyes and this forest
                        was now no more than
                        the vague setting of
                              a dream
                        less to touch and to
                        hear for it had been
                        a long time since we
                        had any fear of com-
                        ing upon the strange
                        animal who blew down
                        the leaves that made
                              us blind

                August 2, 1976


Amy Trussell


An optic axis opens:
path through an albescent stone
along which light travels
a tide wakes up in the riverbed

Rushing through the chamber
and your back's to the stern
mercury tethered to the moon
and poised in the wings

Near the stem of the boat
you navigate singing
where the hull timbers
are scarfed into a prow

It is a curved beam
on which you arrive
a filament of stars
stretching above your head

Traveling by sound wood
there is corona blue
pulling your sternum
towards the inlet

Dropping a sheet anchor
and climbing out of those ribs
feeling pushed up plates of earth
all this perfect tension

With storm petrals issuing
out of her hair
Astarte approaches you
footed in luminous milk

Palms are turned towards you
a passionflower blooming
out of each hand
a slow wind drifts off the sound

She hears the sound chamber
you've made with your heart
and the keys your fingers know
open a vault of light

Again you will launch this craft
know her rippling towards you
what is held between the eyes
the wick and the unquenched candle

                     Friday, 12-13-96


Holly Day


little bells tinkle against
the back of my eyesballs, silver strings
purr under my fingertips--the crowd 
loves me.  We orgasm 
Heroin _does_ make you a better musician.

my skin and bones melt and braid themselves into
the fiber of my guitar, ailen fleshes bonding,
symbiotically feeding.  The crowd applauds
somewhere in the dark
beyond my sealed eyes--I hide inside
the dead tree Lazarusing

in my arms.


Five a.m., no dawn yet  silence
from the crib as my son   sees I'm awake now
barefeet padding on cold tiled floor
as I reach down to get him, realizing
the animal at the foot of the crib is not stuffed
purring, blinking eyes open

 please let me stay

My mother-in-law tried to convince me the cat
would try to eat the baby  sit on him
suffocate him
that I should keep the two of them separated
for the first two years
"at least until the baby can defend himself"

 I'll be good

tortoise-shell body accordians yawn soft
head bumps and rests beneath tiny outstretched hand
purrs at first contact gold eyes locked on mine

 "This is Tonka.
 She's your kitty now."

             ANOTHER HAPPY DAY

I want you in the morning, stretched out on my bed
still curled around my body, still
clutching at my hands--I want you with me
always, and I'm not afraid to say it

I hear you breathing in the bedroom as I
put out breakfast dishes
I love the way you sound when you're
wrapped in coma slumber--I tiptoe around the kitchen
not wanting you to wake up
until I'm done

Your body is so warm I want you
wrapped around me always
I dream of happy places where we'll
always be together--I kiss your eyes awake
and serve you coffee, toasted danish--and together, we rise to greet
another day


John M. Bennett

andomorph                    your
many names, "order
of contention" (wave back



Jeffrey Little

the thumbprint prophecies


cognoscenti in cairns & the stowaway soul slaw
there's no binary to explain you away, leaking,
long on phosphate in a pothole of charged rock,
dancing no lettering of any known tongue


the home of the king-size drink

(for the planet of the apes & timothy leary)

"take me to your leader" these words they make 
an arid formation of my mouth, this is the realm 
of the english accent gone bad, a cul-de-sac in 
the apocalyptic narrative of the leisure suit you 

don't see mutton chops like that guy's anymore!  
a glorious powdered space nog it's all that's left
of our collective piggyback into an inverted hair 
shirt of understanding - the universe is a bolo tie.

on easter island the wild dogs all walk sideways 
& bark at the big heads until the sun completely
squeezes out their sky.  this conception of caesar 
it smacks of osmosis in the cellular monastery 

of timothy leary standing in the bronx b/4 a brick
wall & that tangled gray ersatz drawl "can't get 
there from here" - silverbacks - my mouth wading
in a tumbler full of mohair just in time for the tea.  


Karoline Wileczek

Collier's 9-2-39, page 6
article title "keep up with the world"

mourning boxes look through slits
son of the liver spot reproduced momentarily
is only a port of call 
reveals that the following
lines are stretched along fence posts
by the distillation of bituminous coal
interspersed among this aggregation.


pistle new by the way have you heard the one about

grey air fan folding swish goodbye
arcanum in the belly holed up for later
averted the tide of no tomorrow

it is plain as day in the hearing varied
all these cords are attached
to turned over cabled backward leaf
as look up I into violet and press your fingers

this iron is cold!
this banana has been peeled!
I have read the newspaper!

mesh cartwheel left right and high
on the shelf is stable before hand
looking for bathhouse engineer nod
his low ride in stout welt keeled

blue dirt pile shovel with blisters
pyrrole lined  the cracker tin tin
igniting the least of vacation campers
caring only for their little canons 


sat nite holitude

lord's alte (late) light
stult, nix pass.
HERE, the slight of them
hanking in the mist.

this replude, nix nee pinter
i've had enough shit
for two lifetimes
n thnsm

chasm spasm

the narker spud
his own repunto

laid out and flat

the morning AAAfter
you sd helo
fuck shit
and thensm

eyem a former shoe
yr light plenty skated
in flux in tremor in

sharp sudden plenter
planter (sudden roses


why role it out
when a pinnance
will do?
as pinner w/a small joint
like a pin

spilled communicado

he sd
late at the bar
i want to read poetry
but but
(i add) where's the beef?
and that's about it.
* * * 
louie               3.30.96


Jake Berry

from Brambu Drezi Book 2

             crucifix is embryo
       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
cells to habit
                                                                 born in
modal Lilith hacking wire

                                                      Will follow Mother's
                                                    to Avernus    (hideous
                                                         that stench is
                                                      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 -

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
                                          and speak
   particles emerge
from 'their' forces shadow
     polishing the mount
                    rider eaten from marrow