If this is where i must find love

walking thru the district like a ghoul

bars closing down to my right and left

windows go black as i pass

nothing here left to do

solid shadow dammed between the trees

the park extinguished in a hush

if this is where i must find love

i consecrate this night to what's ahead

two or three species might have seen

my next ten steps into the void

the fragrant precipice and buzzing depths

static on the scalp and fingertips

light growing where the street picked up again

betrayed the sense i'd crossed into a realm

never to come back again

the way i've come to find love is

Ikea Holyoake

Spring offensive

i heard bells jangle

when i turned my face the answer was

a wide-jowled moon low in the trees

ignorance

like youth is so refreshing

Spring hath not these qualities

Spring offensive, spring

baldly rolling while broken

origins in question

Spring a mere rewarming

new life, that furry coating?

dread of Spring's attention

by Ilyn

Phyliss Nhin-Tuya

[trans.]

Another Amsterdam or Another Venice?

As the butt of everything,
do you dyke in or build up
when churning natures call?
As the mons warms, his
eyes they skitter and sweep,
want to feel her everywhere;
Is she in the palm of an outsider?


Baal

ICE CLAW

ICE CLAW was spotted having replaced the sun like a crystal bear jumping up and over the tooth-full mountain peaks that keep our valley in a hoary shadow...

ICE CLAW seems to have ripped open the stone floor of our habitat.

ICE CLAW cannot be trailed anywhere because he's so giant that he's always pretty much right there.

ICE CLAW's hand is often stuck at the center of lurid posters.

ICE CLAW is not a way to get ice but rather one of ice who gets.

Phyllis, embedded (coming up for air)
"Dial your emergency number now."

My alarm, his fate

He goes humming in and out the door now. The screen bouncing on its base makes the sound of industry, another mold being cut. Off and out and onto the porch to get another smoke done before the laundry ends, Roy has apologized for threatening my breath. He has explained it satisfactorily in terms of disrespect, but also mined its more intimate fingers in body chemistry, parentage and temporal insanity. One daren't meet'n the eyes of such a life sluffing off its earnest lies as an impatient foreskin will shed selves. One can't decide if it was much hotter provoking and inviting it that morning, shirtless breast against naked titties, flushing pecs at only seven paces, calling and responding along a most ancient rut, deep into which pleasure gurgles on its storied path of sorrow and shame, to a level of normally phone-only verbally pornographic violence. But as the bottom, I guess, I got to ride defense, still showing a stag horn. Roy had to make the cruel decisions for both my feverish alarm and his fate.

by Mike

DOUBLE-LEGGED SPIDER

there were twice as many as in a hair comb or double-lashed beauty.
half a can of botanical killer and its steps just got bogged down. Nex,
even with a fly swatter, it was only enough to cut through the two-ply
webbing. But look: It's left a package: a bi-pedal or two-headed bee.

spider of parietal jungle, parietal nose-centre targeting
tickling through its own creation more like wind in fringes,
a double-legged bomb on our minxes, terrific wall shadow,
please mother of nations stop yr hyperciliac protist worming

freak light

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/30/us/30paint.html?_r=1&scp=3&sq=brown&st=cse

Life was great but at a regular hour each day everything she had ever done was wrong. 
She felt cities were a place for soft music but in her case...
There seemed to be moments you could only get when things relaxed to see how they wound up,
and there seems to be the ecstasy of rounding a time bend and siphoning the horror outta change.

but in her case, still, the planet kept on with its annoying pitching and spinning out of range.
colors previously thought to be unrhymable until today: orange, burnt-orange, sienna;
now it made more sense when you sat that deep into a morning past sign-off stage.
There was a freak light in the meadow made it shake like a curly bulb went split side-ways.

By Reptily

freak light.mp3

pyrus calleryana 'Chanticleer'

It started out as a good dream because even though he was homeless he was sleeping heavily in the loose saffron folds of a muslin sarong on a mattress of moss and hearty dichondra under a bud-laden pyrus calleryana 'Chanticleer,' the ornamental tree that smells like semen, in a lush mediterranean cancer survivors' park. Green bottle flies the size of hummingbirds droned their white noise of optimistic dirges and lullabies, as if to lay paving stones for oblivion to rock along down on its squarish wheels. A grease that acted as courage-in-a-vessel for Nature glugged sloshing through art-ceramic channels to every life in a nirvanic system which bid a deserved nod of its fertile date palm fronds to the stylized irrigation ditches at Al-Qal‘at al-Ḥamrā’.

But next thing you knew he'd found a length of masking tape blown from one of the costume trailers in the sanitation district's haunted village. With a chunk of abandoned picnic charcoal briquette, he wrote in caps with the sticky side imobilized in grass: I WAS A COLLEGE PROFESSOR.

We found him sitting in his own shit, autobiography unbecoming as a headband, speckled with the organic spray of chaff and seed and grit that invisibly sandblasts the open night and all those who may be closed up in it.


by Mike
"having encountered Ilyn in the midst of an expression rarely sensed by humans. Just by luck. On the way home from a medieval-themed piano bar near the run-down shops along the sea wall."

gut flora

While renting a uhaul, the
in the process of hiring a truck,
some of the vendor's stomach flora
released and attached to my face.

you could almost see the blooms
of coli as they splashed on your
eyes' moist surfaces and flocked the
uvula. Even five hours later, my

his gut mosses linger in my sinus
chambers and continue to stimulate
synapses reserved for archetypes,
arranged marriages, harsh caprices.



by Tom
"How life can be separated between tomorrow and today, where I've forsaken society by knowing almost no one but the famous. How I've changed home into a structure that had spent a year splayed in three separate but potentially interlocking components, in a meadow, with sticky bee hives seeping throughout it that would start a walkathon movement among any normal gathering of concerned citizens... How in 40 thought-out moves not a one was aimed at something like whatever this is, but something measurably better... But how the plain truth is that, with a fat bitch laying by my side, I can spring forward into the same strange land that you are all trying to navigate, how I can live in horror and sanity somehow, all integrally, where a plan is a map and a map is a planet... Sylvia... come back to me..."

Pecking worm cloud

click image

click image to view struggling hostage

click to follow grupe

Like a Sap

My first snapping eyehold on daddy with irises of evergreen and shocks of ruddy premature, earthen hair from head to toe-- a six-pound spindle, in fact, of hoary non-baby likeness-- inspired him to visions of one day looking up my dress as one might close-up view the Tour Eiffel once everything were stretched enough and diluted out to see the woman in it, and being nearly blown flat by the sheer enormity of where life can go. Not Conrad, nor Condoleza neither Constance but rather "Conifer" is my name fully given. I am here to report the story on why everyone thought they'd murdered me, how it became so personally important individually, and how some of them might even think to cut me down for fear that knowledge of their innocence would leak out.

Connie
"Maybe I did it to myself. Like a sap."

Tonight is...

that's the morning birdy
like a kitten crying for a titty.
keeps chirping till it's good and sunny:
Pree-ooo. Pree-ooo.

blazing deathstar rears basically as a dot.
somehow a non-mammal goes after it like a nipple.
even though you and me can't even nod as two.
Me-you. That's brain freeze, flashbulb blindness.

Creature sounds are taken on only a la carte soup du jour by others at the zoo.
When they sync with their salvation antennae, link to their shame receptors,
Every color of lipstick could be a way to say how hip you were to suggestion.
Once cast into the tornado of a day, tonight is what men piss into showers.


Connie
"I love guys and cock and the 90's."

Physician's Licensure Hold Lounge

Now Donna cannot even go back to her hut on the desert floor. Some say having left the garden hose on too long made a leak to the aquifer, and that's how the collapse occurred. Sunlight and her stucco home broke through the decomposing granite crust and free fell a few hundred feet before splashing down hard. One ironic mention about it all getting sucked in, her cards and pictures, pets, food, art collection, driveway with cement prints, mailbox is that at the same time, she was remote viewing a documentary entitled Chank Atlantis. She'd shown up to sit in for the state that day. They had her on a tuffet of clay, some would say, because of the law tablets that were played to negotiate her stay in the Physician's Licensure Hold Lounge. From her folding chair in the rehabilitative media chamber she had marveled at the power of the sea cutting down on hubris, especially the condescending sass of the middle class university-style intellectual with their endless self-congratulatory slumming forays and phat-assed group licking pageants. 

What saved her life was the rubber room is the first obvious but wrongest conclusion you could come up with. If life had been normal it would've been Nature there to call hero: Nature, who held Her shit until most righteous folk would be off at work before giving into the breach. The depressing fact was that nothing much else but Donna's life was saved of Donna's life. Was this where she'd be into perpetuity, a detention event venue for enemies of the meta-cognitive talk therapy apologist movement? Sure, she was safe, her life anyway, but the focus created by these environs always had to be the patients: were they secure from alternatives to medication as well as compliant with the prohibitization of medicative alternates? The rationale of the health vendor societies everywhere was cost, that they be recipients of all cost, that it be monitored, and that there was an accountability of payment, sustainability of need, and payment that could be pursued and multiplied and punished even while continuing to provide a river of product opts.

Phyllis, SSCB

blue-collar mad scientist

Yor laf in m' fangers gimme dread deepina bawlz,
Sorta whut you muss feel ravaging yr taunting food
Sep it's a kinda love too as I let care grow b'tween us.
In this hot room moisture prickles erywhere b'cause
you have evolved from a 2-bit preacher to a
national shivstar lottery queen from all I'm doing,
along with the searing truth 'n chance of electricity.

You think I'd risk my tam with Jan 'n the kiyuds
'f I dint know there was sum'm better t' provide
lak a day unner direck sunlight, stan on a real hill,
outta cement caves n' twilight of wan superstition?
I want yor skeletosis to tell a story longer than th' both of us.
You can raise bribes 'n forces, try 'n blend inta rustic corrals
while yr frens tie 'n kite you with ideals 'n booshia.

But because you have killt fr hunger, shiny coins, boredom,
or jus the sum of whut you were born being worth,
We cn bestow on you 'n honor greater than th' crusader kings
as you unfold these thinly fleshed and hideous wings
and a war helmet's gouging horn is organic to your face.
You may rise now awful Chama, and step in terrble knowingness!
Epistles loaded in yr chips will tip you into streaks of righteousness!


Wayne
Beta Invocation of Operational Systems

trial of ms. dr. donna thong

• Please tell us what led to yr charge that Ms. Thong is a rampage shooter.
• First, when we refused to pay her, she appeared to be quite angry. That was frightening.
• Go on...
• Her reputation is pretty violencey. No one at the clinic likes her at all.
• What are some of the complaints for which you personally were stationed on cull?
• There was the one when Sandro, an enema nurse, was pretending Dr. Donna was invisible. He reported that she kept vocalizing more and more loudly to him until she was nearly yelling, which obliged him to employ a habanero spray in her eye. Anyone can tell you she seemed insanely out of her mind at that point. Like a killer.
  
• What had Dr. Thong been trying to tell Sandro?
• He said she kept asking for the key to the Ladies'. He had it on a chain. But she could have had a weapon stored behind that door.
• Why did Sandro pretend the doctor was invisible.
  
• Everyone knows what a scary, violence-toned person Donna is. Someone on the distribution list suggested that we all just aklike she isn't there until she gets the message, and some of the more responsible ones did just that.
• Did Dr. Thong also receive that message?
  
• She did, because she took it directly to the Workplace Fluffer Team.
  
• Please describe the mandate of the WFT.
  
• "To keep things fluffy with hearts and smiles, so that every day is a worker's treat."
• Thank...
• "To decorate with skeletons on Halloween; to fill our desks with things to eat."
• Thank you, Mr....
• "To sit and pout when you ask, jump and laugh when you give, go sleepies when you take."
• Is that...?
  
• "We are vested by the state to guard a worker's right to talk of sports and cookies bake."
• But sir, is this not a serious clinical environment.
• Out-of-towners don't understand how we do medicine down here. Our patients add up to one of the highest averages in the chanks for prevention ignoral.
  
• You mean their illnesses are their own fault.
• They made their beds. They could have made their own happiness. Why should we all have to pay for that.
  
• Because it's what you yrselves are paid to do?
• We're paid to satisfy the Preservation Society. They've got us filling out forms all day. So what: if the prevention ignorists can work the system, we can do it better.
  
• Would you characterize Dr. Thong as ignorist empathetic?
• She thought she understood the dreams of men. It's how she hurts us in our minds, and why we don't expect her back again.
  

Arethusa

Missy leans her elbow on a ledge, which sends a boulder crashing down the slope. A mature sugar pine snaps at the base, nicked by a wing tip. She hangs Its face in her hands.

"I take it minorities are well advised to make a strong impression. Is it like the weakling bug who's painted a gargoyle across its papery head? Is it nature makes a swarm come when not backed off so?

Maybe naiads from a previous life rising from nerve venom come to act out, in their wisdom, and with hooks in, wriggles of memory that jar or pull shut levers and consequences that can be accepted as archetypes."

In this way, a graze prey unit outside its hoard contemplates vicariously an apology for the urge to have a bloody meal.

Saint Dick [revision]

I sit in the back pew of an empty Episcopalian sanctuary with my
degradable plastic sack and its transparent cellophane wrap on
laminated cardboard, a box of fourteen aluminum packets that contain
low-porosity, curve-cut moisture sheaths laid over 21-mg transdermal

Nicotine glue patches. A swell of lemon slavered wood and illumination
on cotton paper holds at length sweet iodine eddies from the chequered,
florid lane, and because there is a concert in town, the pungent squalls
of faker hippies curling along on mushrooms or methyl-amphetamines

With their costumes, Goodwill hunting and baby straps. Ceilings this
high create micro-climates in the dust-rayed suspension for door mice
and death moths stuck in the water tension of puddles in stone-columned
receptacles. Alone with the crinkling flotsams of Man in my lap,

It doesn’t seem to matter what might swim between esophagus and
lung. Only my lips will breathe this prayer, only enemies and friends
in far-flung orbits could form a basis for presumption or explanation
for why I’m here, but I’ve no known knowledge of my excursion

by any human ear. Tho I may detect the shriek of a suparna high
above the painted metal beams and glass of the cupola, it does not rain
fear, only static wonderment. I strode past shingled cottages, against
the backs of doorstop Buddhas in the creeping hindo-communistic

Aesthetic of the university neighborhood. A declassified man on feet
naked but for tar and sidewalk gum, with folds of cash and dreads and
beads pursued me chanting fumigation of indians by cigar store regulation
and the osmosis of their reservations, and his speaking slowed me down,

Gently forced the diversion that led me to a street that opened between
some trees where I could spot the steeples and the dome and its ribs
caught up with kite string and palm fronds and blanched bodhi skins
teased by saline winds seeping from the bay, which keeps away tsunamis.

Hoolie

The Windrose

The windrose is a plus or cross negated. The
in-betweens spoil everything by suggesting
infinity. Man has four limbs; so many in-
dividuals depend on numbers like these.
The true rose is only a cross turning;
all circles, thus, are an illusion.

Turning in every direction creates our globe.
Wind, not chaos, displays this point. A spin-
nig cross is a wrrlpool, yet not open ended.
This is how we arrive at the proof of solids:
Nature's want is to wrap herself around thm.
Otherwise she spins like an eating, shitting

Vajra going down on her insides and spitting
air. Our trade routes only follow the sucking
of a deep inner core, only wanting to tap a
meaning. Fortunate as an epic, I can turn cir
-cles around the glare, dip my beak deep into
the mesh as for a fish, eat of dust forced by

A system of apparent perpetual motion, like
my lifespan. She needs to close off the in-
take and egress and carry on self-contained,
around a man, someone staunch who wants po-
lish. Pregnant women seem to be hauling a ball
when it's only a windrose protecting its nut.

Peg

Our Genus

We take in swarms from the windstorms
, give them stillness and warmth, and lay
out glue traps meant for much bigger an-
imals. Everyone is seeing apolyptic mean
-ing into anomalies of nature. There is no
other way that is non-toxic to our genus.

They struggle themselves to exhaustion
and then maybe fall asleep or just sit th-
ere pissed off and starve, helpless stiffs.
Their numbers show how our own lives
depend on killing off as many as possible.
They seem to prefer living sweat even o

-ver shit. Sugar draws few. The smell of
sliced ham poked into the grill of a zappe
-r lamp just makes them crazy writing t-
heir names in the air and lighting on any-
thing but the fry tubes, though now an a-
gin the pups jump at the stray execution.

Wayne [Rebuttal]

Callous in an Odd Place

Donna's hut, carport and pool create a Tiki-style octagon behind the chain link fence. She can often be seen in knee-to-toe bells and a halter adjusting deck lounges. The parcel is mortgaged at more than three times its worth; one would expect it to sprout exhaust plumes and fly. True enough, a layer of hot lava sufficiently shallow to be covered in the mineral rights sometimes causes mudpots and steam vesicles to appear in the yard.

Donna lives in shame of her sun damaged forearms and ankles. The scar is a shimmry curt'n. The desert pulls at your blood through the skin. Someone has snipped your life stalk and placed you in a drying bin. But why the callous on the back of her thumb?

She was into fresh-juiced carrots until it turned brick-orange. Why should the most puzzling parts of the physique present so saliently dyed? Donna'd been at P-Supply U during the tenure of a psychoanalytic dean crossed with Jungian department heads. She wondered how she was somehow callous in an odd place. One would expect a life to form armament where friction is most frequent. Donna loves her girlz, has shared a kidney with the poor, and of another race. Of reverence to higher beings, one does not chafe from that which can't exist.

Could my linguistics background add something to the mix that would reveal, through language, a fallacy in the metaphorical approach? Not. Memory trumpets: "Phyllis, to tell you the truth, I think something may have bitten me there." Donna crammed a smoke in her mouth and stood to fold the chair. An incision had left the faint white jet-like streak on her lower back.

Phyllis
Re: Donna