[found image]skip.6 [august 2005]
[found image]
kiva sage : i hear the barbeque smell
cody stewart : esophagus sarcophagus
prashant emani : the assbone of a jaw (or how flimsy is my whimsy)
bryce beverlin II : look to see
christa beverlin : i need a gun
nicole pamelia : lost harringers
wilt hodges : the expectant wanderer
kiva sage
laughing thru the woods
i see scuba he is happy
trampolines fall down
go to town, making laughing
cobra makes mistakes
he is biting he is waving
labrador feels sad
will the patio feel warm.
windy blows the flowers
i hear the barbeque smell
painter hugs his family
gloves are fun, have gloves
sandy is his sister
she can drive a cab
thermo-nuculear warfare
matthew broderick's hat.
smiling smiling sunshine
tony talks to henry
passion fills the asshole
tigers have been friends
gluing happy ice cream
mark likes richard's corn
together we see breathing
eiffel tower's corn
cody stewart
Fingers pressing on the lovely jeweled flesh
Indents of Pearls in the white ivory
Rosy escapes near the indentations
An amazing array of roses on the natural canvas
She shouldn't have shared her plums.
Now he was going down- all thumbs.
Just the sounds of rumpled bedding in the distant past
and roses blooming around crushing fast limbs
Petals falling from her eyes
As the air rushes out and absent are the cries.
renee kwiatkowski
Here I am
Far away
What to say
Piece
The assbone of a jaw (or How flimsy is my whimsy)
prashant emani
Hollow rooms are prime for the philosophers,
Who preach and air and rent and rave, and cave in their shields at the sight of the fight,
And I the quaintest, faintest, blandest of them all,
Stand on my ideal pedestal,
My marble turd falls daintily to the ground.
As racism slaps me, thwaps me thwacks me, taxes me vexes, mocks me, blocks my path,
As blood of innocence flows, as rape, and hatred have a field day,
My moral compass takes me round and round in discussions of wafer-thin Arcadias.
My garden of escape.
Remorseless, actionless.
I can blow my ears out sheltered in the freedom® of this nation,
Look with sad abstraction,
Sip gently on the juices of apathy and sympathy,
While my hands wither,
Action cries out, in her shrill unused tones
“Done? Doing? Carried through?”
The horse shakes its head.
When a war is required, without the demands of patriotism, with fries remaining unnamed,
When dirt needs to be shoveled out of early graves,
Where are we?
Sitting in words,
Gladdened by saddened expressions?
Fate will find its way?
Spring is fucked by the end of may.
War must be.
bryce beverlin II
it is a quiet ring we all pull from the outside with one hand
ruts and pitfalls sharpen as night wears on
sometimes we know what we need but don't know how
something about therefore i am
someone flies on their special day
somewhere it is time for landing
do i count these curses or amass the passes
as though they were anything but real
anyone to tell
anytime it could be that time
opportunity
rendezvoux
liftoff
these are paths to the physical
christa beverlin
i almost killed myself today
i cant explain
this sadness engulfing me
for a while
black tracks on my arms
crying out salty tears
you said nothing
im not sure
what to do without you.
today i finally found it in my heart
i called to plead:
im sorry/call me/i really dont disserve/your reply
but i dont think
i can live with you
hating me
please, say you need me
sometimes
i almost killed myself today
until you called me back
saying: chill Christa, ive been on vacation
nicole pamelia
I wrote you a note beginning with a noose and a knee high boot. It said all I needed to say but consisted of only blank characterlines but dontworry all it was about was how mariners can tell time and location just looking at the sky. This is much how I feel about you that by just looking blue can coordinatecoordinates can show location of ultimate destinations and here there be dragons. gorgeousness creatures reaching deeper waters, a full pages of characterlines I did not write in letters figuring you could decipher meanings from the same constellations of hangman I read.
wilt hodges
You came,
you sought,
you conquered.
It wasn’t always this way.
I knew how to defend me & mine, once upon a time –
but then again, that was once upon a time.
Tell me wanderer:
how much was it worth to see a glimpse of my soul?
Was not the transparency of my heart enough for you to stay?
Don’t tell me curiosity overtook you as well.
Don’t you know child only children believe such fables?
And of children: you have made me powerless like one.
So tell me wanderer,
you who came & conquered,
the vagabond whose only currency is novelty:
how compelling was mystery to you – you know, Mystery.
The night when I risked all to search for companion and sympathizer,
In the caverns of my heart
& the other: another territory for you to implant a flag of exploration on.
I was your fabled Timbuktu –
laden with wealth and splendor;
you were my ignorant European,
A wander who felt left out.
But I heard your prayers…
Pleading for direction,
petitioning for admittance,
(You should have seen your eyes!)
I took your bluff.
Except you were 300 years behind
(The Berber & Arab beat you).
Its history attests to its city walls fortified on high and a life beaming in the inside.
It now lay gloriously ruined,
With nothing left except its legacy.
Rumors from afar embarked you to the trail of my city walls.
You were lost of course.
So I prodded you,
carved you a trail.
At last, I ajared my soul.
BETRAYED!
I was repulsive to you.
“Let down,” said you.
“Defeated,” said I.