Harsh Talcum of the Abyss

He taught bleakness to crawl. Then he thought his accordion could dismantle everyone’s cherished ideas regarding the cosmos, self and identity. In this he was mistaken, though such an act was amplified through the sour, green moons of Paris. Tactically, he was the proverbial pictogram stuck between spinning reptile discs. His raw absinthe dreamed nightly of kick0starting the apocalypse, and indeed his heels began to bear all the earmarks of the much-prophesied arrival of navy-blue archangels programmed by Jehovah to write erotic sonnets. A fluorescent puddle was no good to him. Steaming plates of alterity would have been of even less use. What he needed was for glass pavilions to suck all comprehension from his innards, and this would have happened had the car doors not locked themselves spontaneously But such was his luck. He could peel post-Einsteinian mathematics from the gated now just by snoring. he could steer a tank with his diction even if you taped him to a shaman’s glistening throat muscles. And yet, even the slightest hint of a deformed halo would send him into a blazing legislative fury. He called everything names, and when he ran out of names, he called them numbers, and when he ran out of numbers, he called the police. They gave him a lucrative, fact-finding tour of hunger and adrenaline in exchange for everything he knew of zoology, and off he went again, railing spools of low budget algebra to eyes hammered in like nails, some of which he had to hallucinate in order to meet his quota. In the end, he expired with a pair of ghostly Air France Concordes etched on his tongue, the pockets of his coat flying through the lonely corridors of time. Sadly, this harsh talcum of the abyss served as the only designation on his tombstone.


clouds lick the pretty in her hands

clouds lick the pretty in her hands
it's always been this way she says
i've told you time and again says
you're 30% woman

tonight will be wine
tomorrow i'll buy a compass
each breath lately seems
like a waiting or wanting

i think she gets off on emasculating me
i'd penciled in a masturbation above
the foreword to the seducer's diary
think it was yesterday or a little before

-- 7/30/07, IL


cold morning strangers up apartment above
she's still sleeping black hair pillow
jazz on eternity's stereo system plays

my stem is strange that fixes me down
i've no idea sometimes what i'm after
the ether's scrambled my insides

wanna trade my one act play for some green
tonight will there be a quiet game of scrabble
or all assembling for some kinda revolution on main

the table cloth is checkered red and white
a cat confuses its tale in a maelstrom of mirrors
security rows out onto wakefield cars roll on

-- 7/30/07, IL



hike up your skirt
and those egg white smooth shapes
of your face we criss-cross
was it so very strange
as kissed as you are
that weary spirit split
a pagoda soup of darkness
as crazy eyes cross back
and forth like fencers
so many hours that hurt
the most she never spoke of us
time i'd kissed that strange line
and annihilation lit up
our tv screen

-- 7/28/07, IL

Concentrate! (for Mary Harju)

laughter rises from (concentrate!) throats
   in depths, de profundis; cushions w/ sheets
w/ floral patterns & wind rushes in;

streets surreal w/ coffee-shops (open at eleven),
   so we go, get coffee, a brownie, sit
on curb / baltimore ave. near clark park—

we hit it— slides, grim metal
   fence, against park-lavatory walls
mary’s lips taste like sweet brandy—

here we are; (concentrate!)

P.S. More new work in Otoliths 6

passing stars or creature the solitude

life varies streets the difficult shadows
affects rooftops patient joints silences
the symptoms the city takes weighted
following time

-- 7/28/07, IL


voluptuousness masks o child
woe seeps into green temples
appropriate feelings of complications

the wilderness playmate
with a fragrance of speechless grief
climbs crippled trees beautiful

street organ intensity
escorts the twinkling purple
elevating disks of sublime

have a dark painful blue in my face
like ruined products and stood lump
under tables repeated in corridors

-- 7/28/07, IL

hemoglobin lamplighter

severe storms
kindle the metal bee process
race dream homes
an iron autumn sting lurking

the excess feeling entered
his darkness and trembling
and narrow figure
a bleak mouth

love terrified
she awaits abdominal swelling
in the cool moon surgery window
the other's icy middle creeps

hemoglobin lamplighter be that preserved
requires drunkenly forest address
he of never poured blue purity which walked
reaching the tower clinking stars

-- 7/28/07, IL


F.Iyetaka, F.Saieva, C.Palillo:I light up of immensity

To those who are praying for the blossomed cherries:
yes, I hope to contemplate once again
m illumino d immenso
[a coloro che pregano perchè fioriscano i ciliegi:
che io possa guardare ancora una volta,
m illumino d immenso]

F. Iyetaka, F. Saieva, G. Ungaretti

picture: paesaggio (seascape), 2005 -
by Chiara Palillo


Democracy is little

I think I slowly keel over to the drugstore where you weigh yourself
after ingesting several aspirin tablets.
Please refrain from filling me in on the details.
I write the way a rancher thinks at dusk.
If you unwittingly allow adverbs into your hesitation,
I drop when the shoots spells out an intent.
The lines are long here in the west.
That's capital W.
"As you were," comprises syllables I've come to like.
I do that anyway: swamp cool my own inventions.
Would you like to see them?
I could offer you a demo but these don't come cheap.

how good (do I have to) make you look

for you to love me?
I ask myself why do I ask myself?
reflexes remain reliable as sandpaper
until it wears away.

I wear a badge that says:
I need to be taken
I look into your face that is not swollen at all.
I think sometimes that it is not like my face.
I believe there needs to be another word for face,
encompassing all faces.

I am invisible to you
unless you look into my eyes
and see yourself.

on yr knees

confronted by strange hands
in the pyramid
truth poofs of smoke
and shadows are born again

stars collide explode
in the sugar sound
of a moan
white streaks of paint

there's pain in my eyes
there's tar on my tongues
i wish to find a secluded corner
i wish to fold and fold

let us dust this elevated
as if it could be cleaned
let us dust as lusty as cocaine
we're so very powerful on yr knees

-- 7/26/07, IL


wish that i knew sometimes
what's really on yr mind
the geography of yr thoughts
a map of mud and orgasms
of teeth so sharp and to be held
can you feel my scrambled organs
in yr sound sleep oh
truth stumbles through
the warehouse of illusions
indebtedness because hardly able
no one can read this it's secret
i can't even describe some primitive
merrily down the sea merrily merrily
merrily down the fault merrily merrily
row row row yr boat let's roll
a matchstricken midnight magical again
surfaces here and there peeping tom
poor the nudity i've never licked

-- 7/26/07, IL


a stream of consciousness

he is like a loitering cigarette butt
waiting to be picked up and smoked
by a wandering broken crackhead
ashamed and beaten by a crossfire of machine guns
just waiting to expode in pieces
do you understand the point of view
of a schizophrenic ladyhawk in the night's eye
a stuttering midget wow how amazing
in an obscure way dividing reality
from a fantasy island revealing so much nonsense
a woman with child facing death upon delivery
holds the truth catholic priests gather together
uniting a sacred gathering an orgy of sorts
bloodshot eyes a little boy is forced
to confess his sins a sin full of confessions
demons lurk around the fountain of youth
a battered woman cries in her stomach
lovestruck by hateful restrictions
brainbashing draining into puddles
looking down she sees his face disgraced
by solitude shooting comfort so
down into veins deranged
he seems confused sentenced to
intolerance doomed toward ignorance
set in motion so much commotion
mother singular baffled by circumstance
destroys her essence with guilt
tired beyond belief suffering
so much grief she's depleted
overheated sour grapes
dripping succulent fucking
it's all so disgusting




Alice More Beautiful In Springtime

"Sometimes I think you need someone to stop you." --Martha speaking to Doctor Who

"How long 'till my soul gets it right?" --Indigo Girls

Gabcast! White Rabbit - *BLACK HOLE* #7

Alice More Beautiful In Springtime

More beautiful
in Springtime
my Pieces:
An Angel's Task.

stick figure wax
literary, stalking prey:
Educated Tyrants.
Friendship under glass;
Police Box

Scissors cut me from script-
Grandiose words,
Epic with wings.
Never knowing ground
Beneath feet.
An Angel's Task.

Say hello to your head.
Sounds love-winter cold
Each day's December loss.
The only resurrection
Here tonight
Your own.
More sur-real as I go.
Why did Elvis have to die?

While Me
Alive for
A Happy
Kraft Macaroni 'N Cheese,
And choosing
The Perfect

Perfect Word.

Alice, Baby,
just one more thing...
Is it Springtime
again soon?

--Nobius Black


etalon hijinx etc

Specifically dissembled
spatial arrangements
the animus of
wearily written human sense
i. e. coaxed slang arbitrates in wonder:

plumes’gestalt volcanic lunacy

@ Eucharest / Negev.

Segue to Diamond Head
etalon hijinx, etc
DeLillo rails up short upon

Every man is Raymond Massey.
Therefore I am every man.
Every man is estranged: re-
vise dopplegangereudaemonia
* one word *
articulates Kyrie across unspanable Kyrie.

The facts are:
her new pots, his spangly de ville.
(s)pacific (m)ocean
post-op & op art:
poor [mensch] poor [bitch].

& ding’d
by tire-flung stones, the language for car
is immobile for now.

“Body” espouses,
shivers nightly

wrapped in meaning’s leaden phrases--

(e. g. ptomaine’s a honcho)

(b)risk & (f)all Klondike to Espoo
[See fig. A:
place manifest-language-ideation in slot B.
Secure monad-lock-nut
with episteme-
lag-bolt to front panel
as indicated
in Fig. F.]

The picture,
however construed, remains sublime,
a snow bank of sundials,
(N. H.)
contemporary schmaltz.

On the final ring [RING RING RING RING]
“I” answers the phone,
& assuming intelligence,
wavers like a flock
upon the asphalt of having written,
no longer irrelevant
but contrived.



Blindly upon the heels of exact
line breaks:
Up and over the ivory hills of
exotic Africa is belatedly read.


bende ite a_wy

iso- ] ]

of later than would

served up quote

loft’d among us

hero means “brang”

lattice fraud’s
painterly welt

motive open
glottal forum

to alt. some stone

inches by “y.”

a dose’s

“lynes across”

a stance’s

“eh, Ting?”

a dot nearly
[ [ -iso.

premises are vast, hurried, shipshape, glyphed

I think I want to love you in past tense
the color sinecure amounts to geometric blue
come hither wasteland pacem in a traced vernacular
when I cleanse I have involved a spate of chalking

semitones combine to form harmonic inference
the loan shark misted over with soft dew
remains the posted confidence
a lunar indigence commands performing

inexperience already dried enforces how we weave
I have neglected product in small favor of procession
limping along the freeway various opponents fry
the evidence is shored and subdivides

into my sleep go symptoms of essential thought
as always beams are generous and retained
unless you seek the point of drifting
leave detritus where it is and call it art


i don't understand

i don't understand this moment   something busts in     everything crumbles   
what means the space between eye and eyes          something succumbs
     a man stands on the corner          he's holding a teacup sober
pinky finger raised delicately and unsoil'd          vinegar eyelashes
            she dances with what she does not understand         eyes
a spectre floats over me his wings spell 'w      e       a       r'
            i've grown weary of irony               saxophones play
insert drum solo here                interstellar caterpillar
                     the little voice that says 'we're here'
a polite conversation sunny july day everyone's giggling
why do i juggle             why must i write something tangible
               L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E is boring            'nuff said
                                             a ballerina stood
on the tip of my nose                      berlin wall
                               eyeball cafe
eucharistic wafer temple of the shutters over us
shut up               i don't understand


yr lips are like diamonds
they shake in the street
the panther prowls
green-eyed glowing
marijuana scud missiles
in the wake skin night

prayer amidst the mantises
issues forth sideways
ministry of a gasp
hollow navel moons
through which the skin erupts
like mini-skirt belches of gyspy harps

inch forth little vacant one
lose yr mind as trains moan
far off in the distance
there where stop signs
mean no eyes
and love is scarce

-- 7-18-07, IL


beige leading to red comes home to me.
I cinder full of you at night late
when depreciating home
equates to smalling village where I listen
to your sadness leave
the daylight quiet


but... (anonymous, ungaretti)

alexamenos sebete theon, alexamenos adoring his god

ma ben sola e nuda.... but alone and naked

senza difese................unprotected

porto la mia anima.... is carried my soul


(anonymous, ungaretti)
picture: alexamenos graffito (Palatine Antiquarium, 200 AD)

her serpent tongue
closed mouth open
legs crossed
his boots half-tied
stomping through sludge
demand she complies
screaming cries
demons speak thru his eyes
devouring her guts
clorox brain
lost children digging
their graves
conquer this maze
left in a daze!

preaching the blues (illinois song)


roger: (sarcastically drape
eyes swinging
) how romantic
isabel: it wasn't meant to be
surely 'tis you i rely upon for "romantic"

my energy's screwed around so much so
that the sacred is obscured by black-
eyed dawns trembling enormously sexual
i want to love


my mom intentionally forgot
the name of the vegetable
isabel was visibly nervous
introspective fingernail biting


once upon a time there were 3 little dwarfs
if you squint hard enough you'll spot me there
in their mural briefs questionably shrouded
o gourds we can never possibly fathom

is dope is dope the neighbor understood
instrinsically at best the idea of guest
i sat at her table grinning grinning
like sacred mushrooms a better half of me


it is beautiful
to be sad
such a sadness
defies gravity

o give me a home
where the buffalo roam
o bury me
in idaho

o song
federico garcia lorca blues
pt 1 of 10
in illinois
it is here i am

-- 7-17-07, IL



a strong wind explodes
from my temples tense
as manic thought
the ivory railings
of such a sultry july

the skyline that you'd anticipated
all summer long is to be found in this dialogue
lined up between us from initial counterfeit
to exposed as real as a hundred bucks
gone hand to hand read your palm
and your comments all over my lips

just like the space cadet
he's alarmed by outerspace voodoo
and too in my jeans i go
following into your eyes
some soldier trooping totally aware
of sheer magenta jungle is also me

our faces hyper you bite me horeshoes
horseshoes ouch i cry so long
it's as lovely as ice cream feeling you
feeling me figure this out perhaps she
and i will be ultimately you know
in six years ahead if she and i'm for real

-- 7-16-07, IL


j. angling for tread

what j. comprehends
of snowed-in class mediocrity


his big strange wall of words
careless at detours
& angling for tread

j. learns as he skids

Look out, j! Words have
a cliff!

j.'s scalloped indigenous achtungs

in the beginning
j. traded in counterfeit ekpwele

measure was the rip tide
of j. barrelling across scalloped
indigenous achtungs, baby!

chevrons of sea dunes
converge like evidence
of j.'s poetic nature

j. is what???

a condition j. edits
hoping against hope?

or b) sevens where kafka's
"k" preexists?


or j. in his bathrobe
fetching the Times?



slowly chugging
that belching miniature train
of night most midwestern
rolls on can you hear it

i call out to her
in the zigzagging corridor of blue eyes
'tis here that the saturated moon
glows brighter than bourbon

surrendered to sequined waists
of those in love slender salamanders
life preservers her green arms float
toward the fiery vibrations of rollercoasters

our pasts toss about
in a violet funhouse
like an amplified scar
that flags our shoulders

lips back and forth recounted
our pasts have become verses
have become urchins
have become ufo's

-- 7-13-07, IL


why am i always
busting up fights
in the back of my teeth
when singing i might be
you ahead of me
neon composed
some rooms are too small
to hold you in your smile

-- 7-11-07, IL

no break

4 of us in the room
we wait 'til 3
none of us certain
whether anything is positive
were you tested
do your dreams hurt you

she wanted me to imagine her 17
and slow to love never done a soul harm
i told her this is the blues
that we correspond in
always strangers
pacing the pea green rug
of the world

-- 7-10-07, IL

waste away

i think of all my lost loves
the dreams had float them toward tonight
and tomorrow when my daughters wake
will they recall their travels

i've given regret away
watch it move in the thrift store
like all of antiquity had crowded around
if i'd like i might retrieve it laureled

however possession is a password
printed on my lips like a moon-
beamed stripper and my mirror sags
as all mirrors must waste away

-- 7-10-07, 5 pm, IL


with you

am pilgrim

minus destination


i want to rearrange
the furniture
of my face
in your mirror

the keyhole
whistles strangely

-- 7-12-07, IL

the first

for melissa lenee

though the clouds are detractors
whom toss to shake their head
dear baby truth is i'm interested
in you more than corporeally
just call this remastered edition
part 1 and hold my breath with you
'til sequels cross paths like lions
with millions of lashes glinting glinting
and oh yes though we're squinting in our eyes
where we waltz and the self just snap crackles
to the wicked beat smoking voluptuous
this thrilling high tower of feeling worth
is thirsted thirstier and still thirsting
as if it were the first


sydney sings a summer song
her hannah dreams a mansion
with huge eyes overflowing numbers
her hayley goofs her red hair
and don't forget tonight
that 'bastian throws a party
and we two here sit listening
our poppy faces full of futures
lips a pouty heat lazy
on purple furniture
eyeing each other
beautiful migraines
graceful pillows
a sound of wind
so darling

-- 7-12-07, IL

DoubleAgentX: "couldhavebeen"

Our lives as a fortune
tell it as a rung is a ladder.
Weapons predict
a seized upon upper westside
my work is derivative.
Agent X arrives
at pseudo-egos
dumb as lingo’s hazard-owl,
considers inviolable radio antennae,
in other words,
a spy.
Inviolable is a poem:
her secret agent
of change. Of travel
translates a language Agent X
studies to resemble. Shapes of a form
corner her intrigues.
Everyone agrees: Agent X
fucking like a sin. Already
the plot allows.
So I says to her,
“Go ahead, direct this link.
Write along the bleakness.”
As she types,
Agent X speaks uncertainly.
Some things rave
into error.
All charge accounts laugh
as Agent X
inflates her plastic escape dingy.
clout & mystery
veer like clever from her path.
Odes to cantilever
is a mnemonic torture device
utilized by Agent X.
Does Agent X elude herself
in the ditch of understanding?
One defines
is not identical to
or the same as



suppose that you are alone
and the edge that you sought
is to be found mundane as niagra falls
will you still love me tomorrow
as you do today surely
in the talking to you
i've a wild idea to walk with
i'd like to tell so urgently
let's chimerically flashlight
the candelabra flesh
of before and after
my hair's thinning
maybe revelatory
we brought the wayward boy home
tripping into the night
as high as a byrd
is eight miles

-- 7-11-07, Illinois

cry baby usa

speed freaky in my genes
next door chunks of roof
fall like shake
evening out our porch door mouths
proof that all of this is worth it
far from routine
the best friend i've ever had
besides cork and bottle
don't discount each worth
you hold in your hands
like song
i'm a cry baby cry baby usa
there's nothing to see in doubt
i've already been to missour-ah
miserable i'm never going back
lonely on the stoop
come to me child
come to me

-- 7-11-07, Illinois

Tilt the Board

To wave on
coming broach the
tope with feeder
z ones be
clear of face,

watch full of
spacious under
penned Bermuda
in the squaline
sauce of pop
clipped sorghum baste

all tall configuredly
as haste makes
tone a gone
thing fingered to F#

you smooth your
way in to
a crowd
I shoulder this

I feast on
how inside the real
trade is midsummer
when the crooning

faults its way
to noon lone
pilgrims white of
shoulder when the room
stays full

the room so
full of you

variably distorted lad

So called brevity or else it says look at me.
What else is transparent if not the sudden
illuminated glass through which you peer
like a scientist or lad before a fun house
mirror. I am the shape of so clear today,
you become it, a mode you confirm: pose&
supposition. Six mirrors are one language


lipread the obvious
botanical breeze

glow back
to sky bake

comfort also glistening
bristles being

revolution summer

one sat there bored
waiting to die
with cigarette
in tow

what flower
awaits you
near core

feel my spring
melissa knows that she's wanted
and other friends are far away
hatching as lost as the last

there are many here among us
holding a virgin thing
in our very hands
inflamed juggling

see this
know you know
toss the test nitroglycerin pray
begin again tear this mouth wide open

-- 7-10-07, Illinois

5:30 is expanding and contracting. Satellite nullities,
supple browns circling the haze of that star. I see codes
everywhere. Red sleeves more than solitary, encased in breath
too warm to be rain at all. The air's tiny death confronted by
its own symmetry. Blank stares at a violent sub-text, equipoise
splattered all over the mechanical glow. A brilliant cosmos
exposes its spear of pleasure tonight, and my nebula has begun to
tighten once again.


Desmond Swords Merry N Square and poem.

This video is of me at the Electric Mouse in Kiltimagh central Mayo, near where three of my four grandparents are from (Bohola and Achill island). This was part of the In Sight Of Raftery Festival, and was filmed after midnight and much booze, which accounts for the loss of memory during the second piece. It was as part of a slam, 500 euros split five ways, and which i did not lay my hands on, as shortly after the recorded events, i became a boozy mess. Raftery was a blind wandering poet who actively sought out other verse-smiths, challenging them to verbal contests.

Poet Paul Casey runs the Tigh Fili (House Poet) literacy events and has begun curating the fully mediatised Irish poetry industry, via youtube. This is the first time a nations visual poetic lore has been stored in one place and the other vidz are from The All Ireland Slam heat for BBC Radio Four slam, and the other poets in both

There is also now in place, a network of poets in various cities across Ireland who run poetry gatherings. Belfast, Dublin, Galway and Limerick, who are all working together for the benigfit of visiting poets. If you are a visiting poet who is visiting here, drop me a lone at and i will put you in touch with the right people in these four cities who can make your dream come true, of reading in the hime of poetry, where it is in the music of what happens and has been since Cuhullain and Fin MacCool tripped and flit from wood to plain.

Biting Tongues One Tooth At A Time

After I fell into a blackout
my tongue bled.

I woke up disoriented
sworn I'd seen wraiths
scattering into the unseen

I groped for the message
in the hindsight

It trickles slowly
like a leaky tap.

When You Bit... (adam fieled)

I knew every Dracula-like whim
I felt every pulse of salt-water
I screwed every screw into wood
I was with you in Atlantis

you were daft, exalted, pinkish
you were drunk on Margaritas
you were dark, pliant, rakish
you were ready to be examined

by my hands, twin detonators
by my tongue, laid on a half-shell
by my teeth, rabid officers
by my torso, raw, wave-flecked

this is not merely afterthought
this is portentous as first-time sparks



i cry for having never fully understood you
raised eyebrows are raised questions
the vegetable catholic church
everything that keeps me awake at night
in pants too big for my body
playing billiards in the cosmos
your breasts are like little yelps
here on the birdbath
she is your sabbath
i lend vocals
for everything
that inside of her

pirandello, eyes of a beast

davanti agli occhi di una bestia, crolla come un castello di carte qualunque sistema filosofico
beside the eyes of a beast, all the philosophical systems come down like a house of playing cards
Luigi Pirandello (Foglietti)

photo: sogno (dream), 2003, by giovanni m. russo

secret agenda

baby do you
have a secret agenda
is the word
there or in my magenta eyelids
where i wait with tweezers
this is such an amazing thing
the aorta of my skull-lid
fall backwards
into this strange taste


there's this one i'm in the waiting room
thinking about dadaism and this one
about the way that she stands up
in my eyes
or the one where the panda
walks back into its sleep

thank you

when you watch us in the room
is your radio playing
or is there competent silence
beating off
such is the places
everyone's pressed
for time bushes
the control room
where first he took her
he breathed her watched her
upside down
surrounded her with kisses
like wreathes unborn yet
and because this precisely
is the case of which to you
i was speaking the soap
of wilderness in which i lay
awkward ready to die
springs up in my body
like a peak just so
thank you

the address room

stumbling down my annoying life
like stares breathing chimneys
this murmur in the address room
of my head looking sideways
is this the moment
you've all been waiting for
in the back of your throat
like ice concerns us immensely


i am zorro

i am zorro
foxy radio woman was all like hump between moons
neither of us could do that neon laugh as well
i'll trade you your nether for some of my ether
let's play pretend coalmines voluptuous as breath
is there any better way to say i love you
when bitten by some wacked-out thang
those jumprope drugs do something crazy to me
additionally she'd a film running in her eyes
called play play play


chicago wind hair
spontaneously making noise
out there it's out there
plucked me from crazy wilderness
the sticks sniffling stoogey
o wild flower inebriated as a loon
what is it that spiritual graffitti
that follows you big lettered "poet"
through halls asteroid
upon halls asteroid hellishly
what in what gentle way
will i fuck her tonight
in her prime my twilit dancer
this place these prancing people
amongst them demonically cupie
my pulpit is shabby like dolls shaved balls
i'm ultimate lush reverend drunk
the killer the pubic hair
caught in your coffee
so irish feel my name kiss me
swim around you in august heat
and the one that asked of me
where's your girlfriend at
what's her answer
where's her tropic where are you
this alliance these vague conversations
about studliness and self-reliance
kerouac i wish i were free too
my lowell my crop my lover so pre-
occupied me i'm so so pre-cummy
and there's this everything hooking up
and you should be too harbinger
warped by your binge wrapped around
spooked in your haunted closet


si puedes
you re going to the Sempiternal Flower
itinerarium mentis in Deum
mind voyage to elsewhere


trapeze crawls into the cavity of used breath
trapeze recants the rowboat dimmer
trapeze amounts to sitting still accessible
trapeze reverts to worthiness
trapeze courts convention and dismisses duty
trapeze releases probate to the clutch of madrigals
trapeze replaces in-flight stippling
trapeze endures the say-so of a fallen priest
trapeze shows industry by noun entangled verbing
trapeze ekes out sudden death anticipated posing
trapeze sits in the woodwind section waiting for a drum
trapeze has shucked endorphins calling them redundant
trapeze crawls in eventually to every hiding place recorded
trapeze mimics rock skipping pen spinning as enlarged sense of derangement

If you're situated anywhere near Chicago...

July 6th, Friday, at 7:30 PM


A Free-Floating Poetry Reading Series

Hosted by Poet Adam Fieled

Featured Readers: Andrew Lundwall, Simone Muench, Steve Halle, and Adam Fieled.


Kate the Great's Book Emporium -

5550 N. Broadway, Chicago



I shot mostly in his room

Compiled 7/5/2007 12/29/1899 11:16:07 PM GMT

Web Web Results 1 - 10 of about 2,160,000 for
- That first shot of him is beautiful!
but includes scenes in the bush near
51 - 60 of about 2,160,000 for

101 - 110 of about 2,160,000 for
- The leading female star
show, Downing mostly jabbed his guitar
Results 151 - 160 of about 2,160,000 for

- Now
digital aswell. Graphics are drawn
He leads workshops and shoots mostly

recites his quotation, the angle so low
I watched a 7 or 8 year old boy tumble down
half empty, a place of shadows and mostly

Tags: ,

Okay, it looks like the issue of the mighty StarFish Journal I helped put together is pretty much live and ready to go!

It features the work of some established voices like Andrew Lundwall and Carol Novack, some exciting work by up and comers like John Moore Williams and Luka HeronBone, and perhaps more importantly, there are a number of complete unknowns that we are excited to be bringing to you for the first time.

Please, check it out.

And, if you are interested, we are looking to link exchange with as many sites as possible, so if you are down with that, please drop me a line at:


inner piece

give me that
inner piece
of yours
i wish
to scrutinize

oak tree
on my lap

baby will you

baby will you be my new mexico
is this chicago i feel crumbling
beneath my feet like saltines
is this the parisian triphop
you told me about are my legs
too big for my body is berlin
an island where people wait

those pincers

i'm a storm front
of cigarette smoke
full of so-called ideas
perched on porch on trampoline

some neighborhood kid's
rapping some something
something "bootilicious"
something "bubblegum"

what am i doing
these binoculars
so ridiculous
i want to sleep

i dig the limb eraser
that revision piece
that leg
those pincers

shelve he(i)r

what can I leave you
can I leave
how many brown eyes does it take
to water fever

on the final
you listed me
and on the final remake

pasture water
principally mown before
the riches fed again
this place this lake

forgive my once
believing that
if only one one is able to articulate
one feels these spiels


Hustling Words

I met you when the world had turned sour

We exchanged alien goodbyes
in the government domain where we worked

I found you again
between fiends and slaves.

We talked beyond the party
beyond the cusp of sleep

I invited you to the river
you preferred to wait for rain

We kissed when the world was blind
before we started hustling words.

For Dawn (adam fieled)

As she held scissors, stabbed my chairs,
Left a hole for no good reason cause I
Couldn’t say no, that she is so darling, this
She knows as I blow smoke, and her face was,
And is, unreachable, a kind of moon, a fright,
A graveyard orphan’s tired lament for a kind
Of nakedness she won’t allow, not to me,
Though we tried, my hands on her stomach,
Teeth bared, it was that kind of holocaust,
Afternoon sunlight slanting onto the porch, her
Mug some semblance of calm, I jumped a yard,
Thinking I’d won her at last

And so the table unfolds before us
Ashtray eye-beams and saucer-eyed sentences,
Coats put on for the chill November wind
That reaches around, a kind of strong-armed
Curse, an anti-benediction, as if some ruddy
Pope put a backwards rhyme on our spoons so
That nothing could ever be born from this tryst,
But a moon-child cast up into the stratosphere,
Without reason for leaving the ground