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2.28.2006
Stratum (the world as I see it...)
Black-seeded sweetonion; sour bulb- small, pungent layered planet.
new at e-x-c-h-a-n-g-e-v-a-l-u-es
my interview with Shanna Compton
2.26.2006
Winter Lyre
Heavily, in forests sound glances off trees, and the cry of the lyrebird cast from the reed bed (knifelike) finds its way home. Near the lake, cushions of weed, perfectly voicelessanchor the cat-tail like wingtip to crow; heavier still-sky's speechless solemnity pulls down the snow.
2.25.2006
That Which Floats
Hereit is again, sadly she smiled, as if she knew departures were like night-birds(so many of them) flown away. This time, it was more like dying star... sparkles of dust floating.
BLACK OUT
destruction #2
minor cheats to
ancient rythms
entice
epic chants echoing
memories of
resurrection
Dead-vertise
Weathered light From a million hoardings Like old lovers Awakens- Streams of desire And rivers of discontent Green faces- Under the hazy surfaces Of trampled city streets Stare at the spotless billboards Advertising hopeless hopes And dreamless dreams A tortured silence In the sterilized boardrooms Speaks volumes- About a globalized youth Waiting in the wings To rule the future And save the (corporate) world A total- Subversion of the soul To- The coolest fad Promoted- By the latest ad Associated facts About benevolent companies Doing good By making profits Bring to mind A host of dictators Fighting over branded® humanity&trade
2.21.2006
The Gallow
I saved the last word for you- like the wordwe never knewuntil the end.I have spoken for so long my teeth remembered what my heart has swallowed. All the glory of silence becomes a road we did not follow.I braid a rope of wordto hang myself beside you.
The Wheel
Surely now, the leaves turn as is their nature- as certainly,man to his curtained sleep, blackbirds to grey steeple, the meadow to its cold, dark pages. In the fields- the broken wheel of a farm machine arrests the vinesof jasmine.
2.20.2006
her mitt self
her wit self her wheat self her steep self her reap self her stilt self her sling self her twill self her speak self her peak self her reach self her real self her meek self her knit self her spilt self her veiled self her small self her tall self her elf self her sprained self her lone self her raw self her king self her spring self
2.19.2006
he says he notices
he says he notices his father does not read him and his mother chooses not to talk except to discipline hypotheses improbable so mornings are as cold as evenings and achievements go unnoticed unless he goes to work where someone usually says something an adult might say when anybody's child reports earning a badge or prize and there is room for praise in form of backpats but his father and his mother whisper instead about small things things less than an inch away from their own faces things that will evaporate before they're true
A Love that Killskiss the death from my eyes before i grope the void i suffice in the shadow of your dream hear my call in soundless wonder a phantom bubble burst in exile sprinkles the ocean i am the grain of sand time discounts you be the door i open into rapture whence you kiss my breath sweeten my dream before i sleep and finally awakened gasping! the color of life that so torments billy jno hope
2.18.2006
Exquisite Shining
We held eachother's ghosts,A fist of sorts. Your blue claws tight around my quickest vein, a dagger in my dark belly. And the drum's chord beat the rock in mirrored waves; washed night from limb like fine mist from the hills. When you leave the bed I understand the sea- the quiet, deep organs of its body, the constant pulse of its grief against the shore; the way it shines exquisite in the sudden brightnessof our morning.
2.16.2006
Inferensics
joust (my man) then tumble free that one may watch you sway tuppence in suspended animus mayhaps half winded half alert downsized not vulnerable habit of foreseeing gravitas amends fate four letter word made small via absorption one surmises that irreducible facet of maturing in full daylight then viewed externally until contagion removes uniqueness here comes whitening here comes overload then particles delay congealing until ossified evolution includes death noticed or ignored one step closer to perfection's depth
(re)truth
two only cups 'e' 'w' over shadow (print in I) cone orange arrow "parking" up live geometry spike'd "other every pole bite" 'tention another two to one lit cups three saying attention (tension) pro whole handed (hearts sworn) trees out palm building purple units "insistent not" piece little
2.14.2006
Outlasting Moths
A season of antiquity, the marrow of a long thigh bone- lifegnawed thin by large grey moths... see how light continues to stray through each worm-eaten portal (the exact pointat which desireenters and exitsthe body)survives its journey long after roaring wings of nocturnal insects have fallen silent.
My Spirit House
I've made arrangements to leave you- my body,my satin glove, my spirit housewhose windows pearly white and rust, the creaky door which I came in but once before on miniature feet of dusk. Emptied vase, shriveled flower, shades of evening's glory- violetgarlands round the wearied truss of night whose walls arrest the ebbing light- now foldbelow the house's winter garden.
2.13.2006
occasionally i visit the real world
strong monochromatic minds
perceive unidirectional
trails
contrasted by unfocused
dreamers that
spin
caleidoscopic dice and
reveal realities
looking
like full color
cross-roads called
tomorrow 
2.11.2006
Enough
If we complain, the gods will not understand;they made the world out of nothing and called it "Enough".We must do the same.
OGMA ME EYE
In open seas of composition - by swimming twenty yards out to seer the pre-verbal tweet of an idea - float on an opaque signifier but be alert and unspeaking of what lifts beneath you waking the voice within Then consciously perch like a gentle merman or migrating sea bird awaiting to sweep across still shallow waters and sit understanding the incoming tide divining to hear what word god returns when the odds of hitting aural bullseyes cease to be wrongly spoken of
slaveit is raining sweet where my mind almost melted again the sun has mingled too for a marriage of sorts we are forever saved we are forever wounded Billy Jno Hope
2.10.2006
take my name he offered her * day diminished then to gray she * overtoned through depth yet unperceived her * self efficacy seemed at least delayed * now she goes around being partial * maybe to dreams because dreams vibrate * today she bought a laminated page * a cheat sheet for logic facilitating * easy credible discourse guaranteeing an audience * maybe even disciples to help forget * branding his name indelibly against her * tired skin still advocating for him
Iris
Forgotten, the difference between something radiant and no place like earth- a little secret, a brilliant bird.I have better things to do than die unfinished, resist invaluable lessons of flower, the myth of moss and elms, the unlikely alliance of soil and flesh, survive concealed, light veiled between the hills- opaque as petal and just as beautiful, dressed and undressed- purple skinned and yellow.
2.09.2006
'spect
vapor sprays absorbed push into left smells home traffic into right turns car horizon confirmed 'dictions building over sun isn't "know you what" form (less) history cut/scrap scabbed through skin shadow poverty (lang) result told shake ",in out yeah excessive yeah, cosmic" changing (lation) trans to slip fades
2.07.2006
bassoon is tumult
manufactured out of mountain maple thereby drying is unique passes four times the size of oboe a perceived filled woodwind with a cone and total length forbidding critically important picturesqueness drowning in a prior stodgy instrument optimised for a temperature of 20 degrees celsius that laments being stirred by obscure bestowal on first draft before being called the "whisper" key hooded away with the math lunks yet dabbles in agility shuffled far from studied lowest pitch
The Purpose of Rooms
At the end of the day, worry is not a question. No one asks the dead-"why?"At the threshold of doors, two concerns- leave or live.Rooms, the purpose of rooms, a haven- walls, the night, the city, my skin, my captured soul, my unended beginning... I dreamt I was born in the hollow of a wooden shell; at the end of the day, I return there.
Sweeney Astray
Sweeney spat flakes of monologue to an invisible foe in room 108 before he took the plunge. A flyer of thought who'd lick round corners like a knife wind sweep up shined steps and cyclone through the swinging doors of a red brick kip called home trailing his underbelly aura of tramp glamour through a smell of pine fresh floor polish lining the corridors like yellow smoke in Eliot's Prufrock. He'd wake to reality's nightmare cursing in a feral wheeze or grunt and shout about "cunts....bastards....lazy wankers dying of cancer" then bang the wall with his fists to start the day dissolved in tears. He never socialised or idled with others just the one time of a long chat he had with himself in the communal area before Oisin complained to the warden who shut him up and stuffed him back in the dressing room where he worked on the final scene. A plasterboard box he left whistling as he stepped onstage at the shelter deep acting at 8 12 and 4 dressed in a drab bundle of black rags clutching a mug with a look to no one and none to him. What demonic cause sucked his life away behind the eyes and forced his lips to pucker gumward; curdle twisted words in his mouth and draw sweat onto the one shirt he ever wore and never took off? Years of liquid cosh and ECT beat and drained Sweeney's blood bound scrap with life nuked his mind and buckled his passion on an anvil of despair razed thought to desert where a phantom's whisp frazzled his nut to a brain baking recipe the gards scraped from a pavement and time scrubbed from the memory of other residents the day of his exit.
Thumb Sucker
"Inhale the light..." --In Flames
"I will walk with my hands bound. I will walk with my face blood. I will walk with my shadow flag into your garden." --Pearl JamThumb SuckerWord cash price Affection's pay. --proximity to-- A pen infatuation. Move with assassin Kill speed. Hear no heart. Chase ghost static; Fail you. Electric spine thumb sucker. (Red glow slurp.) Womb with perfect view. Another brand fascist born. (know this) We had every reason to Be beautiful Thinking There is no Name. Knowing We can't sleep at night. --Nobius Black
2.06.2006
Origon
I am finished with riversand roses and light,the one-eyed moon, the large embrace of sky, even, the sweet mysteries of night, I will not re-visit; instead, a small grey stone placed carefully in its tiny jar [ alone]to remind me of what I am made of.
otherwise two fine quarto sheets stapled twist of ivy trestles up brick how limitless one seems to selves in an outtake virgins brooding change blue cloth housed in gold preserved in a cloth chemise very fine
Perspective
From that place,cold, correct and blue, I build a fire, high as tower and call it: moon.
2.05.2006
tri-state
a small note for Z| |
center frequencies need
contextual induced
readjustment
| 3 |
mapping
transitions back
to shared domains
| | | | |
intoxicating dance of
locked creative
orbits | | |
The Collector
"Don't fall in love again. That's a line they will feed you." -- BuckcherryThe CollectorEvery man has the same size soul. Every word here -- a piece of mine. Something to keep. Something to inspire. Something to reassemble into the greater. Oh Holy Journal-- (You hear my prayers)-- I am *Word*. Keep it close to the heart. In Heaven, we will read every book ever written. With God, our potentials will be realized. The great writer inside will have all he needs, An author on the otherside. That is what I believe. I live by the pen. Ink vein paper trails. I collect it all-- To be it all-- Never die (not really)-- I am *Word*. Collector. Remember me.
2.02.2006
Untitled
for ls and illuminated as beautiful so if somehow awfully
Last Call for Reno Shot
"We learn what poetry is - if we ever learn - by reading it." --T S Eliot
"Literature is mostly about having sex and not much about having children, life is the other way round." --David LodgeFree copies of our poetry microzine Reno Shot: A Non Creative Garbage Special are still available. It's fun and tragic like only good poetry can be. Free copies available to distros as well as flyer exchanges. Contact: nobius AT gmail.com.
diversifold toehold
1/ one hears the silo being still again this afternoon the whiniest machinery infects the yard the man behind it steers propulsion 2/ in the matter of a second hand the clock struts two one syllable softer than water fallen across crops that foil the hunger field 3/ the seance of distinction marks dovetail the seashore while pale lore of a near neighbor pronounces first person singular repeatedly with too much vowel 4/ parsed seeming language convicted of a pattern reverts to old ways when a voice comes to its aid surfing winter with intention
2.01.2006
Breaking Away
Many times fallen at the foot of that same mountain; became its root, held there.As incomprehensible, moon falls from sky, all its silver bells jangling inside- irreparably damaged.
'pologetic una
there points 24 "is, this joined" chin under window edge hand placed form entire direct (tion) 'reflected direction condition determines transversally propagation dripped glass sleep unrest (full) supported context'd as context as directly "unrest one, pension, case, it," is for armed is (something) slip treble foot hand forward
This Hour
What a strange, mysterious
thing this hour before it wakens or shakes off its terrible ease. There is no burden as the hibernating tree, the heavy cross of sleep- the dead wood and morning's hesitation... sage-green,
shadowed.
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