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Classic Literature
Excerpt: Charles Albano // Can?t say which is more appealing, // that open sky // with its herd of white bison, // lumbering over the sunny Highlands, // or the green hills, // and the river they enfold // with their colors.
Philosophic Literature
Excerpt: In The Lake of the Moon from a porcelain face ripples a mouth // laden with secrets but nothing is told // in the lake of the moon // lunar eyes wet, murky, watch treetops // poke bottoms of dream-sodden skies // from which birds fly away // this mover of tides, this body of craters, // rests its reflection on waterbed evenings // in the lake of the moon...
Poetry
Excerpt: For the birds the birds our wings are made of polyester, topped with real bird -feather icings, we don't hurt them: some of them spare their fluff when they die...
Excerpt: Swimming Pool Someone said say // it?s a good day // for drowning // and the pool // was a liquid // turquoise // with a little // gold creeping // over the edges // of giant palms // I took his hand // and led him drugged // to the scalloped // shell of water?s edge // and with my palms // I pushed him in.
Excerpt: Wendy Carlisle // The Words for Hot // The roosters call morning // from house to house, light takes the hills // until the valley's only mist // hangs back in the landscape's corners. // All night the cold worried my feet. // I dreamed of beaches, // lay awake inventing shapes to trap // my own blood heat, // but found no way to catch // the afternoon sizzle in paving stones, // the hiss from whitewashed walls.
Excerpt: Larry R. Brooks // Clapper // Four men with serious mien // hugged the huge clapper // that hung from the ceiling on muscled ropes, // hugged it to their chests as lovers do, // and at the tweeting of a whistle // began to sway in unison, // each swing bringing the wooden clapper, // tumescent end swabbed in leather, // closer to the metal, // until, with one mighty shove, // it impacted with the side of the bell, // producing an enormous release of music // tha...
Excerpt: Katja // from Rules of the Senses // I (a reading) // And you may // call me, for the rest of your life // call me, read the service, // say the words, my // heart?s not in it: // go on until your throat // aches. And at night // when off your shoulder falls // your shirt, that first // flash of brown // skin against white // call me again, your words // softer but the same: // I will not answer, I will mumble // every charm I know, my voice // rising wildly, my...
Excerpt: Jennifer-Elizabeth Adams // Magazine Rack // I look at the girls // with sunken eyes // and necklaces made // of bones and skin. // Belts of decay // and peel from within. // Shoes of nothingness. // Heel and sin.
Excerpt: How I Dream Without You Nights I row to the middle of a smooth and deep lake, the boat slig ding like a skater across the water oars tugging...
Excerpt: Adult club, NYC Down there on John Street down like on my body, you can take her legs and turn them to the light that's ferquent, ethereal: you can mix parthers none of whom would make it...
Excerpt: The Way In Knocking at the door of the hearthall, I can see a great light if I match my eyes to the edge of the jamb...
Excerpt: Reclamation // I held fire and ice in one hand // and witnessed neither sleeping; // walked to the swollen river, // after the rain ended, // and painted myself with mud. // Gored by the horn of the bull, // I bled on wet moss, // offered my breath to the stones. // You should have seen me, // mother, on those red hills, // singing as I tore down fences. // Wisdom, like the wind, came in gusts.
Excerpt: Orders When Aunt Lou strolled out onto 16th Avenue barefoot past the blooming guavas through their gardens imagining herself invisible in her housecoat, at a magic cloak, the neighbors...
Excerpt: How can you explain poetry to Midwest town folk whose climax is steak and shrimp at the Elk?s on Friday night where you leave reeking of chain-smoke and floorboards rotting from the tipped king of beer? And how do you analyze data transformed to how many cardiac last month and by whom on whom and how many ended up bypass triple quadruple and how many died and some of them you knew from the 4th of July parade sweating 300 pounds full military dress down Main Stre...
Excerpt: Flowers // That all that is me // Is a pity! // The wood gatherer // The blower of ashes // With whom everything would bloom in hand // Is // Ablaze.
Excerpt: Wendy Carlisle // In His Lecture on Resonance, the Poet Instructs Us // The poet tells me I will be redeemed, if I embrace // dying. Mortality, fondled like a lover?s balls // will give my words the dirt blessing, // fill my mouth with salt and sweet as if my tongue // licked up a man?s thigh to the dark earth scent // alive at the edge of language. Knowing // I?m on my way out, he says, // should be the fruit of every day. // But such short days - and what if t...
Excerpt: Wendy Carlisle // Dorothy, After // North, South, East, West who could ever keep them straight? // I, for one, barely remember to pick up the dry cleaning. // Why did I think it would be a good thing to click my heels? // Football and baseball, soccer and swimming - dates as hard to remember // as witches? names. These days, I?m a whirlpool carpool, strong enough // to lift a house, spin it around with someone in it drinking Margaritas // and set it down in some...
Excerpt: Walter Bargen // Dissolving // Below sparrow, starling, stork - nothing that gloriously soars. // Species that skirt treetops in search of the next near // perch: backyard snag, old chimney, spilled grain // or shapeless carrion, whatever view is closest. // Not these swallows rifling over the peak, // careening, missing this hard ragged edge, // bottom of a crumbling stone sea at ten thousand feet. // Wings whistle in and out of a mountain?s // cold shadow. Blu...
Excerpt: Nick Antosca // The Milk Blood Landscape // A million sighs subside // and ingots of silence lie stacked miles high // in an island warehouse, // while the proud sea wanes and heaves // on all sides, its pale vitreous waves poignant with the brine // of dissolved ideas and delirium. // And a million bridal smiles are dyed // the icy shade of nuclei which have died, wilted, dried // to tiny ring-like husks inside amoeba cadavers, // because brides die easily and ...
Excerpt: Wendy Taylor Carlisle // The Fairest // Below skin-deep in the steadiness of organs, // in the upright bones, where all solid, perfect cells tick on, // the widow?s heart, that little zip lock of gore, fills and empties, // regular as a metronome, only a wisp of memory stirs. // Nothing moves her but her chestnut hair, her own pale // cheeks. // She hums; she ignores the darkness somewhere east // of the lace that disappears between her thighs, attends only // t...