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mason stoups

2 Boys on a Toy Fire Engine, Jim and Hughy Mitchell, Englewood New Jersey, 1937. "The passenger Hughy has become a poet and social worker in Rochester N.Y. The driver an artist. Neither one has ever again been so well dressed. The photo is by the Rev. ]. A. Mitchell. The Chrysler air flow engine was a prize gift to receive in hard depression years." - Jim Mitchell.

Cover:

"Always points of view and the minimum of means." -Paul Eluard "illustrarni di te, S1ch'io filevi le lor figure com' io l'ho concette ... " -Dante. Paradiso, Cantos XVIII, 85

Issue Ten April 1993

Hozorneen Press

Box 174M ystic CT 06355

Contents
e.w. barber richard freitas matthew hannan melanie greenhouse albert kausch shelley lawrence kevin debell fish mar k wallace jennifer wolcin . alder rIm 7 11 16 21 24 30 32 37 42 47 S4 S9

closer.

The passions ror antiq~ty have subsided into that green haze or yesteryear, therr vidorian Pancies smashed by the advent oP a new tuturism.

T his momentum is a dead recKoning: the transcendence tram the
surety or the green static state towards the communion or the digital rrontier, pathway to the dream illumine, These are bold steps, reserved Por the blacK sheep o~ any crowd, Mason taKes his Stoup, and an era is begone,

e.w. barber, [r

Friendly Voice
It's a small, valley town, no place to go And your poetry, you know, is nothing more than prayer! That's what she said to me, picking marigolds Inside: imaginatively, there are no certain limits, Outside: boundaries we must know, flags, nations, gossip, The blurred landscape of old people too And to bow before children! So, send the Gods allegory if you want, I'm already out-of-breath, on my wee walk into color This small flight from death into my garden, So do you, in your silent scrimmages, build up Warm, word, images in uncertainty, not excluding yourself,
If you're lucky, and maybe in time, the words Will have something to say for eternity.

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Letter from Leona
She wrote to me and said: This was the first year I really thought about the coming spring Here with all the March debris There was the sun's soft; streaked shadows across the green, In the late afternoon, the limbs, one-by-one Broken branches from the tall trees below my rented room And this bridge of years cementing us together, Full moon and stars, a thousand years away to travel The apple orchard by the side of the gravel road Everything in this low, lost landscape, dusted In cold, white, shimmering snow The books at night, and the strange eerie silence here, across frozen fields We the searchers, looking for light, everything a token The steady drone of cars out on the highway, a faint friction And rusted wrecks on black-top, sprinkled with glass Flicks of frost upon the warm windowpanes melting to the inside temperature, the oblique paths everywhere to stone buildings, things we couldn't describe, Because we still don't know.

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Morphogenesis
Is this poetry? The most primitive, patterns oblique Cross-horizontal striations of coral banding A dance in the design and science of life Realm images, that come dense and demanding, unkind. Art association The amplification of gene expression Silent, subcellular, scrimmages from solitude Rude variations and strife! Quiet aggression Words: as stiff and straight as lead soldiers, That only march with the magic of mind, Cut like a knife. A lesson for all peasants From the monotone cry and hiss of silence A shadow inside the dark, velvet night.

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photograph

by shelley lawrence

a

new
h

map
f rei

ric

tas

t:.._""'-'1

r-... ,

11

Bight month i. moved further meditil tion as an j,ndica.tion of ~rr, i-o Lawhen )<'erlich,al interludes. which pl~elurle memory on this are

my life

became one

banded oar-t.h ,... hose roacts like lea.ther harnesses

slipping ,,1th

endlessly

into one another,

the scent of ,;hirling to create fast

sex. in theil:' ha i.renough through apace

time, on the sanJe night
moon razes Lhousand at some

as the full hlent;rthree

!niles closer j.tself

in our celestial an old photograph, kind of cryogenJc only rliffe.ring

alignment,

l,bich is one relic,

in ~lhel'e th" image most
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exceeds in capturin.g its salj.ent

mood; sometimes in faces

.stranglehold. 't'~hi h c
1)O'\'i

flush""l of color,

are forced to magnify

that irrirlescent metallic
in
8.

ripple
of function

soulful

acceptance

Some

things t.ake longer

i sat beneath Lhe hot steel

limbs

of the ;junglog:v-mdecirl:ing "ho
lily super-s Lar s por-t. heroes

were

Q

and th<~ they should be ,/hi te • t

facto",

it "as dr-illed into you boys vho took sa~ying niggc'l:r
In sayi.ng ot,h{:-)J''' irty d
~.S

by precious delight as they in di(1

much.

the Lnf'er-Lor nigger. fucked
i'

the inferl

or

and shi t.,

were the boys so sDun,1lydes par-a te to

trlGntify

t.hemse Ivas ,

that any identity none <It all, everything

"ere be-tter than sP.crifiee

to unkno~i:ingly with those ,,fOrds,
tro

~~,~.:..
~~t'-~ :--

for l1le to finO' se l.f ,in the
pla.ce

r t.h Has not ~

't1Jher'e t}leirs

"". ~~:.~
""'

.......

t

~;--~: <
~~,,~ .. :-

t;;

~

.e-,

~0~~
......... """,..... e-.... ~ ~.( to.

promise a promise, "here gods and godrios se.s , forsaken surge human, curled inside billmling the tidal dialogue of ~light, of feminine drama, flight.

out the uselessness

of our tribalistic

there uas that

time in vermont, remember? you Loaned me seven drachma us lost without a trace, i thought, chaste
a sonata

on speckle paved roads, like too many paintings

of the same wall, and underlying

of our \.eariness,

a furtive

burning the hide into glowj,ng ever radiant,

a 81i ppery cloissone, gro\dng ui th the grain of a singular so too, are the ray's haste

that knows no bound; and yet, of sunlight into that casting

the aurora of girlhood shut allaY for the ·approaching Hay this ne", plateau, yeilrling

each Dun's closet, never reaily

came, Hhat >1e gain is

the compass t measure, of holiness,

an human flood

\ihich has -,Ii tnessecl you reading a.Loud the solirlity of the seven tiererl Hord

matthew hannan

Body and Mind worked as one Stayed that way 'til job was done Mind made Body walk Body allowed Mind to talk.

Time Alone
When did our paths split? Was it while I was looking up or did you just quietly cross through the thicket? I've lost you, but I can hear your cough and the snap of sticks under your feet. But I can't see through this thicket and the thorns won't let me easily pass. I would run to where I last saw you, but we agreed at the start: "No going back." So onward I go, walking alone to our common goal. Just keep in ear shot. And if trouble befalls you, give a yell, and thorns be damned I'll be there.

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Cigarettes and meat keep me from purity. These are vices that are hard to kick. Booze became easy, but everything else is necessary. My soul does not smoke. My soul does not eat. It is the inability of flesh to conquer the rest. I've smoked for so long now that I can not imagine not doing so. How does one take a break from work and not look like time wasting without the inhalation of tobacco? Without a watch, how does one know the time without the depleted pack? One day I will quit and then there will only be meat between me and the Truth.

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--

Aging?
When was our last adventure? What was it?!? The last time we went to nowhere and did nothing? Life around here has become mundane. (Now is the time for bills. (Stay home. (Now is the time to heal illness .. (Stay home.»»» I called to see what you were doing! hoping it would be the same as me! all chessed out and bored, to see if you might want to go look at the waves crash on a winter night, but you were screening your calls. Sometimes I feel like a patient wife (or maybe any waiting spouse?). Is this what it's like to get old?

~

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Conclusion
All this quitting, man, got me down. Come on! I was a damn good escapist. Evaded myself for a long time. Found two lives easier to deal with than one. What's the problem with that? Now I am old and this scene, this activity, seems dead to me. I fell and brought others down with me. Struggle as the remainder might, they fell as well. Oh well, sell hell! This winter has crushed me, forced two minds into one body. (Punk rock Burn this place.) Thank you that this one has read up on Buddhisml Sobriety is my insanity. No more tower climbs, then what is my role?

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photograph by michelle gemma

melanie greenhouse

~

Pissed-Off, Middle-Aged

Housewife

She is a pissed-off middle-aged, emptied, sucked-dry housewife Living a reticulated, obfuscated, herniated rnidlife, Stuck in a simulated, dominated, strangulated half-life. Sure seems strange to me. She is a grey-haired, red-eyed, petty-minded imitator. Weak-willed, phone-billed, soul-dead, shadow-hater. Headed for a crisis. Maybe now. Maybe later. She must seem strange to you. She has variegated, corrugated, laminated stretch marks. A syncopated, elevated, ventriculated weak heart. Hyperbolic, vitriolic, astrologic, star chart. Should she seem strange to you? She's been rounded-up, beaten up, undraped, raped, and sodomized. Impregnated, scorned and hated, torn apart, then symbolized. Cut down, hollowed, chewed up, swallowed. Why not ever crucified? That's very strange to me. She is Indian, African, Muslim, Yugoslavian, Chinese, Japanese, American, Serbian. Hindu, Jew, Mogadishu; Peruvian, Bolivian. Polar, equatorial, All latitudes and longitudes. Nomadic, territorial, Aquatic and arborial, Neolithic, heiroglyphic Terrestrial, Celestial. .. She must become less strange to you.
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Devolving
I was born on the crest of an ocean wave Weaned on the warm, white, wind-blown lullabied by gulls and terns, bathed by a cool, wet salty hand. The beach in labor, ebbs and flows. A newborn spills from the loins of dunes. You cleanse yourself of amnion in some far-off, forgotten lagoon. I dive for shells to hang from my ears, Grow gills and fins and scales; Drown in a tangle of seaweed nostalgia, Become a morsel for an insatiable whale.

sand,

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Time on Their Hands
From wrinkled brows slides, time. Draws crows feet on the shores of eyes, Curves noses, paints the frown, sculpts more flesh as time moves down passed the shoulders. Commits crime on once erotic peaks climbed up and creeps silky under arms, then lands firmly into palms of hands etched deep by water, fire, wind. Time.

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albert kausch

So I asked her, what is your name?, where are you from? and the corners of her mouth turned up s~ightly as if she thought that were funny, slightly, interesting slightly, and she said, I'm the Devil ~s sooty sister and I'm from Hell, and she almost laughed a little, watching for my response, but I thought tha-t was cool, and bes ides, she was interesting, there was a certain strong sense about her, an assured affirmation. and she said, I know you have some time, so listen, I have .e, good s-tory for youI had been ~iving down in the Haight, had a lot of boyfriends, a~l the time, and be~ieve it or not, I always imagine thought that I was going to marry one, yeah, that, but seriously, deep down I thought I was going to be taken care of, both of my parents were broke poor, and that's the way I grew up. and left home early, but never really ~earned to take care of myself, you know?" I a~ways thought that someone was going to come along, that someone was going to COme along and save me, right? So I a~ways had boyfriends. I didn't even think about a life where I wou~d make it on my own. So there were a lot of broken hearts, a lot of blood on the tracks, until it was like all quiet on the western front, and there was this one guy and we were going to get married. he wore a suit and I didn't really feel anything for him and the wedding plans were ro~ling, and I just kept saying to myself, that- I would never have to worry; I didn't know what to do, it just wasn't going to work, I got really rest~ess, I just wanted to get away, away from all of them and I ca~led the whole thing off on the day before, I was frantrc, I just wanted to get away and an old boyfriend let me use his cabin up in the Sierra's by myself, I wanted to go away for a year, yes for about a year, we~l

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that's what I had had in mind, anyway, but it wasn't too long when the Devil came to me, and said to me, What bothers you? You seem so sad, and this is such a beautiful place. And my immediate response was, I have no money and no future of my own. I don't know how to do anything. And the Devil said to me, If you hi.re yourself to me, and Work for me in Hell. you shall have enough for all your life. You will have to serve me for seven years, and after that you shall again be free. But one thing I must tell you, and that is that you must not wash, comb, trim yourself, or cut your hair, or your nails, or wipe the water from your eyes. So I did it- I went away with the Devil, straight down to Hell. Then. pointing around in the shadows as we walked around in deep Hell. the Devil told me what it was that I had to do to begin my work, telling me not to give attention to the images of what I would see but to keep in mind what I was doing; that I was supposed to poke the fire under the kettles where the hell-broth was stewing, keep the place clean, drive all the sweepings behind the door, and see that everything was in order. But the Devil said, if you look into the kettles, everything could go wrong with you, An so I told him, OK, I will take care. And I was so naive in those early days of Hell that I guess that I meant it. What did I know? And then the old Devil went "out again wandering, and I looked around at Hell and got to work, made fires, swept the dirt well behind the doors. and did what the Devil. had instructed. When the old Devil came back and had looked all around moving like a strange animal through the semi-darkness. to see if everything had been done, and without a word went out again into wanderings. So I looked both ways, and all aroun~, the kettles were standing all around Hell, with huge fires under them and I could hear that there was something boiling and sputtering inside, beneath the lid. I remember thinking that I would give anything to look in

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there, but I kept remembering the Devil's words. Finally I couldn't take it anymore and slightly raised the lid on the first kettle, and peeped in, and standing there, or sort of floating there in a black swirling nothingness was my mother's brother Earnie, I had been so glad when he had died a few years back, and there he was, I was taken off guard to see him, and he had that same weird look on his face, that look he'd had after he had touched me, I hated him, and he had that look on his face and he said, Let me out, let me out, or I will tell your father. And suddenly I felt like a child, and I was afraid, and then I thought all about it in a long moment, collected myself, and then I said to him, Uncle! Imagine that I should run into you here, of all places. You once had it over me, but now I have you! And I let the lid fall and stoked the fire hotter. After that I went to the second kettle, and raised the lid, and their was my old boyfriend, Max, who I used to live with, who one night after leaving a club late at night, walking home, he forced me, and then I went on and lived with him for about another year, and he said to me, he said, Let me out, let me out, I had always loved you. And for a moment I felt sorrY for him, and then I just let the lid fall, and I got down, and fetched out another log and made the fire under there really hot. Then I went to see who might be sitting up in the third kettle, and I lifted the lid, and it was horrible, absolutely horrible, a disgusting .mass if burning twisting worms, and somehow, these made me remember when I had been afraid, the man who followed me, the voice on the phone, that man at work, who never said anything but was so weird, shadows in the park, the man who walked up to the house, fraternity brothers, American football players, Serbian soldiers in Bosnia, secretaries, soldiers in Viet Narn, bosses and their they were all in bosses and their wives,congressmen. there, one big disgusting slim¥ mess, and I slammed the

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lid and made the fire hot enough to cook them into nothing. I wanted to cook them into nothing. Well time passed quickly, and I had been there for seven years, and the whole time I didn't wash, or comb my hair, or shave under my arms, or my legs, I didn't cut my hair or my nai Is whiCh grew really long,and I didn't even wipe the water from my eyes, and I don' t know because there weren't any mirrors there, but it must have looked like something else. Anyway it seemed as though I could not And have been there even six months when it was over. the Devil came back, and said, So tell me what has happened here ... And I said, well, I have poked the fires under the kettles and have swept all the dirt well behind the doors. And the Devil walked around and moved awkwardly like a strange wild animal indoors, even in Hell, and said, pointing a long finger, you have also looked into the kettles as well; it is lucky for you that you added fresh logs to them, or else your life would have been lost; now your time is up. What will you do now? will you go home? Yes, I should like very much to see what my father is doing at horne. The Devil said, In order that you may receive what you have earned, go fill your knapsack full of sweepings, and take it back with you. You must also go unwashed and uncombed, with long hair on your head and under your arms, with uncut nails and dim eyes, and when you are asked where you are from, you say you're from Hell, and when asked who you are you say that you are the Devil's Sooty Sister, And I didn't say anything, even though the pay thing wasn't exactly what I had expected, I was alright for the As soon experience, and grabbed the knapsack and left. as I was up in the forest again I took the knapsack from my back, to empty it, but when I opened it, I saw that it was full of money! Big money, IDts of it. And I was blown away, because I never expected it. Then I hitch hiked my way into town in the back of a truck and went to the

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nearest bike shop and bought a Aerial 1938, black and chrome, and these leathers, and pa:Ld cash, and rode off with my knapsack strapped to the back. I rode up to an inn, where this guy who was the landlord, saw me, and like I said, I must have looked like something else, even though the people in the bike shop didn't seem to care, or maybe they didn't even notice, but this landlord practically ran inside, and when I went in and asked if he had a room, he just grinned and shook his head, no. But my wife's away, and he raised one of his eyebrows slightly, as if I could stay with him for free, and I could'nt tell if it was inspite of what I looked like, or because it, and I shot him a look I had learned in Hell then I slid him one of those big bills out of my sack, and then he asked, who are you and where do you· come from? And I told him, I'm the Devil's Sooty Sister and I'm from Hell. I'm sure he thought this was some biker cult thing and sa3.d that he only had a room in the garage, and I said LOOK MAN, I want a room! and opened my sack and he saw the money and gave me the best room and brought me dinner,but I never washed, or combed myself, or even looked in a mirror. And then in the night after I had passed out, the bastard stole the knapsack. But I was cool and I thought to myself, this is not my fault, and went that day back to Hell and compla:Lned about this to the Devil. And the Devil said, Corne here, sit down, I will wash you, trim and comb your hair, cut your nails, and wash your eyes for you. And when the Devil was done with me I was a different person, and he gave me my knapsack back, full again with sweepings, and the Devil told me to tell that landlord that he must return the money, or else I will visit him, and he will poke the fires in Hell in your place. And I rode up outside, got off the bike and walked inside. He almost did not recognize me. Then I said, You stole n¥ money; if you don't return it you'll go straight to Hell and go through

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something worse than I. and you know what I looked like. He gave me back all the money. and begged me not to tell the Devil. Now I had two huge sacks-O-dough. Eut besides that, I knew now that I could go anywhere, and still be myself. It was a sense of freedom, and I tell you now it's interesting how things can change, even your ideas of freedom, and I set out to go home, to see my father again.

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kevin debell

nueva

es~(,eranza.

!~a~n mY~d'i~e,
on me jack

problem is I l~e P relHernbering I e am going to die. T hear the racket of window glass· in driven torrents to be beckoned.
rt:be

it

scratches against he night. How riled -a young .boxer beomes when squared off wit fierce

such a

bv ..,

And Warn pro to a
oil

ure , }Jsefulness

his.
.

of

timor

in the biz

.

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Spectacular
The tubes and devices the biologic 'they' rigged up for the reproduction of beauty are disproportionate Afternoons with red wine melt into next week beyond algebra and government allowances. We slouch across rural route one to take soundings we tie knots of heroes at regular intervals this brutus group and I because we are backward in method and in time, This swatch of maroon is woven like the chapter in the rain the thunderstorm when we took over the streets straddled statelines in a game of mercy begged for reprieve from each other's fingers The vice is still tight the cards came up cross-eyed that night. The class of 1933 is frozen at my hip a goner to the quickest hand. Drop a plumb line, I will take measurements and notes about elementary school. The safety of the right side of the tracks is something of a blessing when all you want to do is finish and be able to prove that the toughest kid stays out after the sky turns gray whose dinner can wait until he wrings the neck of afterwards from his superblock. Let's meet on the swingset Let's kiss the tingle of sunset and innocent face the night.

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New Haven
She has a blossom in her belly. The body makes her wonder why life's green sprout's taken root in this month's spongy soil, but her smile is still stained with sunlight And the doctor still cleans his shining scythe and further burps the backhoe with which to furrow the lining of the cosmos. Check the films! Rifle the files! Flicker into focus snapped images of man's first arthroscopic steps in the sluggish universe. At halfspeed broken antiseptic man descends cracking. Before being devoured by the moon, Armstrong was trying to remember his lines as we will When I hold your shoulder and you shiver across the February carpark as the air bears the weight of our transparencies. I will not know what to do to seem honest under streetlights like spotlights or miner's lamps. You are beautiful, young and wanting. A deeper cavern could never be blasted.

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Vaison -Ia-Romaine
If the future is cast in classical rigor, our mouths must then be aquaducts for rivers of old souls. Amidst the rabble of flash floods, I will cry to you in Italian, my handkerchief drenched and snapping as this silvery Airstream flits like a spoon lure in riptide valleys. Love like the days of the Julian calendar will slip to the bottom of dank and gritted lagoons.

In riots of lost time, massed voices fall short of the ears of Caesar, who is dry. He swoons to his doves, holed up in a temple, his majesty pleased with the complement of feathers to his robes. By the edge of new watery maps, I keep my head above the words un til your return.

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photograph

by robert sidur

We Call
the thinner the air, the faster the fall, pink and opaque into the gravity's burn, above the deserts created to hide all that's missing; answers without words, a language one thousand times older than words, before words and all the limits they imposed upon their gods. blinking away (as if shy or disgusted) without purpose, no way faces can meet} no way meetings can face the faces they need to} but still blinking until sleeps long, dark and happily silent blink ( still without words) happens beneath the poor cold covers we call bed. who knows or cares to think future tense or any tense for that matter, just the need involved in needing and the want that conjures the need out of silent minds on full moon nights of starry strolls along the slowly gurgling oceanward river we call love. no recollections continue the void we call life into another day of another day and another night following upon the wings of doves that fly westward as the earth does it's evening cooling. wishing upon a mark, sad star above my reclining self, hiding in an open field to beat the obvious odds of real hiding and being seen by the clever sort. do you ever want like I want? do you ever need like I need? do you ever wish to not want or need like I do?

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Limit Nothing
prepare strengthen the mind fortify the body for anything fuel all the systems into completion and readiness alert all neurons chemically; shock into alertness simplify the energy focus the entirety limit nothing

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Young
I

thought it was the end when
I

-

was taught of time and realized that nothing
is

as secure as forever's fantasy of being forever.

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Riding the Wing's of Angels
splintering fractal imagery projected inward through a constant of heat, heart, and flesh (human) impurity of thought and form. shapes misshapen, practically on command in an attempt to rectify past problems punitively (wrong) standing in front of the ultimate truth of fire, flame evaporating itself and it's surroundings, surrounding itself in evaporation and all the processes involved in it, mastering the process with age upon age through each passing second, into minute, into hour, into day and week and year and decade all within one blink of one eye as the space between lessens. caution (not all) is blown misplaced by the wings of our angles in the snow storm to follow the rain before it, to the true and blue altar of sky and forgetful columns of irregular clouds like enormous gods not yet dreamed of, to take control of the minds we own and know are weak. body into body as if ocean and immense as infinite as infinity has to be within all our human limits so small, proposing new gravity as fact, pushing the backside through the front side with only heels and shoulders. cradling the trembling rising heat and happy humidity and smell of identity before the blackness (starless) encroaches upon the light with the orange sun setting by no will of it's own. pushing more and beyond singularity, falling through the fluctuating iris in a rainbow orgasm memory projection only to question it's authenticity as age falters the structure.

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Saying Yes
the way the crackle wind newspaper blowing around our feet sounds as familiar as the old news it carries, I shall keep that porch light burning in hopes of a night that finally never ends

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mark wallace

temples are crumbling all around you found heros aren't as important as most would say heroine to an addict water to a fish realization dissolving reality to projection of energy returning far too much too being

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evening sets,long shadows are cast reflections of ourselves to play the part subjects of light and dark not yet reconciled festering, burning beneath the conscious, lurking one and divided

slow death acrid secrets held by all stay unrepeated sideways glances cryptic mirrors buried corpses yet non-admittance under cover whispering breath the selfin exile a silent token unacknowledged cold in ground arcane substance never broken

sunset on concrete and stone carved deep standing for lives facing the poles broken light melts together mirror image, horizon and sky spirits go cold and black cloistered secrets enter the cycle facing the poles tacit thoughts, unexpressed word misunderstood manifest evil

4S

I was in a boat, a flat back boat, with a familiar woman and a man I did not recognize. I was in the back of the boat. The water was black. There was one paddle, I must have had it because it seemed I had control of the boat .. We were going in circles when I noticed that some creature had just swam under the boat. I had the impression it was a giant eel, like one we had seen before, and I pointed it out to the woman. I don't recall anything being said but I sensed fear in my companions. I was not afraid but knew I was supposed to be. At this point I realized there were several of these creatures in the water and was concerned about why we were going in circles. I realized that the boat was filling with water, not from a leak but because it was heavy and did not float. I decided to move the boat to the nearby ramp. The ramp was concrete and angled into the water just breaking the surface before falling off sharply. I had complete control of the boat and moved it without trouble. I was out of the boat with the woman close behind. The man was following but fell, leaving his legs dangling in the water. I was certain the creatures would pull him into the black. In an instant the man was out of the water but one of the creatures was pulling itself from beneath the surface. It had a primitive face with deep, cold eyes as deep as the water. Our gazes met for a moment then without hesitation I stabbed a pencil down through its back so that it protruded from its chest. Blood swirled in the black and I saw others faces gazing from the water. The expression changed and I feared the creature would bite my hand and then it did, I felt the teeth, but it didn't. The sensation was from the creature's abrasive skin. It merely trapped my hand, briefly, as ifin warning, between its head and its shoulder. I pulled my hand away in grief over what I'd done. I stood for a moment looking at the place where the water and ramp converge.

46

. 'NCE
upon
C\_

ilY1E
• e •

47

I: .

,

Pt,

-.

,

.. rh

b-r € d *. "'-E: · .. ·
jennifer wolcin

o

photograph by robert sidur

~

alder

coming out above treeline the full moon floating above pitch pines lozenges of moonlight across the rocky path reaching the top in the east a pale orange sky over the world a sea of mist here and there the dark backs of hills rise Orion overhead pale in the bright sky seeing the moon through a twisted pine the contour of land below swells and recedes scattered in the valley a few lighted windows and on distant hills blinking red radio towers watch the planet revolve underfoot! to see the sun rise above a raft of clouds to sit and breathe the wind of the world "the sun is but a morning star

Ii

S4

Pilgrim Heights
on a small hill in the province lands a sandy winding track the hill crowned with pines the ground carpeted with needles and sweet grass a confused and magnificent sunrise clouds piled on clouds every color, shot through with brilliant sunlight and patches of blue lying 01) my back under the ceaseless winds boughs swaying, the smell of resin investigated by a red squirrel scampering, looking, inquisitive a half dozen Myrtle warblers losing their summer color dimly fli t from branch to branch making small sounds a splatter of rain wets this page a gull illuminated by sunlight close to the earth here thinking of scattering seed onto this holy ground the wind gusts the rain heavier now mixed wi th hail ink running
S6

T'ang Mountain
write a poem on the stone drum wave a holy spear birds alive with mountain touching peace in a pool the quiet of a tern pIe bell light

cold wind under the door the city pale under the autumn moon wild geese, cross the river of stars red leaves flutter cloud rifts blowing trees color a distant wall light folds the distant hills a tumbling leaf storm over the lake first frost over the river gloom of cloudy mountains months and years go by lying flat, high forgetting the white sun a high lone cloud the long river joins the darkening sky black crows fly to the moon frost on ten thousand trees the wind blows through our clothes
57

",S"1~
photograph by shelley lawrence

rIm

Catch as cadge can the deuce of nature's way, that warm splice in motion he'll withdraw today lost in another's stumble drunk stinging haze. Yellow jacket. Abrupt insect still flying away. I feel your poison intentions as I rub the smart away.

Streetlight reflection is my only solace in the aftermath of new real discussion of the herefornow.

59

zero one gain
drum turn mark and remark of all too transparent reality slips quick and easy in the blunt interface of the infinite either/or of wetware connectivity. Go there and is done. The tool embraced becomes a limb at once crippling ignorance with its upturn curve. The gradients of subtlety become so many obvious squares. Cadge as some LAN is both source and receptor, translation of the injection, medicine man.

60