Monday, April 30, 2012

Patrick McManus


bad graffiti
faded hippy
by the hotel
bad smell
of the drains
the window
of the room
like a cell
with a view
like a prison
daylight barely
filters down
falters fades
a deep well
the safe which
does not work
will never close
the ripped scars
upon the wall
the lift that
does not work
or does sometimes
the brown stains
that adorn the sink
the broken window
that heaves open
the singed lampshades
of dead stale smoke
the power cuts
suddenly striking
the bathroom ceiling
sad paint all flaky
toilet flush wobbly
bidet on the move
gently rocking
door self opening
all so revealing
light that flashes
flashes all night

I must be back!
back in Barcelona!
¡Barri gòtic!


Friday, April 27, 2012

Susan Lewis

Fresh New Order Of


+ frightless

despite the leaden

+ what you may


until you fold
or crumple

or its sated

(& by opposing

end them)

which is to say


& thus ruffle
(or fly like the wind)

(+ lie like a


alone enough
or not too far,

fine stretch of claws
& beak,

extravagance of species

taking off,

improbably clouded
as my thoughts are wont to

blinker off & on,
roaring like

an aggregation of



stamping on a fresh new
order of finitude

inured to the high whine
of pain

& rusty treasure


another song
(hung from a)

cobb=d & baubled
& let naught

get in

or transgress

+ finish what you

+ missed,
caress the pate of

somewhat rich &
this estrange,

fall in,

locked as in


as in megastore

as in this life
or wield,

ply the current of an




Vivekanand Jha


This guy: reformist,
revolutionist and non-conformist,
has no inhibition and restraint
on brazen and palpitating passion.

He is hell-bent to turn this heaven to hell
He would spit and urinate where he dwells
He wants this mundane world crumbled and crashed
Like computer with one click
of mouse on virus carrier:

Without bothering its pros and cons
without any semblance of shame
without calculating any plus or minus
He will have no peace and bliss
till he delivers baby through his anus.


David Gitin

Air Alphabet

receptacle of the snows
white belly




ozone life

spark of cosmos



children collect
torch lilies wild

in a landscape
one scans for embers

a boat
toward ancestors



          for Luciano Berio

from the vortex
a river of words

unstable rhythms

to supply value
the unnamable

caught in our skins



the soul

the sail

projects through space
a community

corroded mineral
consciousness alloyed

to mammalian greed
reptilian control

a spiral

playing mathematics
to embrace unknowable



as truth

the turn

where the river appears
to end

curved space



Steve Tills

from Life Sentences

Playground unattended on rainy fall afternoon initiating media
marketed associations of TV-reel predators in richest country but which
it will not root out while National Securities monies go to cronies
pretending to search, destroy Bin Laden. Man all day long amending
resumes in his head always meaning to send them out some day
and change jobs with the new skills he can't list on one page ever again.
The sound of the ducks' quack quack in the little pond at the hospital
next to the contagious factory next to the office of the man with a ponytail
who practices psychiatry and writes out 150 piece script for Valium
for the boy who sells him his lime green Florida jeep. Cat tails forest
nine feet high growing unexplored more and more each year, man seeing
bump high side of village park as hump of brown-green sod diagnosed
with cancer by automatized metaphors. Woman needing to tell husband
to stop sniffling as man wanting to tell wife to stop sniveling needing
to not do so. Three extra-large crows' nests in 80 foot tall tree which has dropped
its leaves possibly home to some of town's biggest birds, practically homeless
man gathering things needed from park trash cans saying something to car-home
girlfriend on break from day's scavenging. Eleven page swath of person's
peanut shells aging quickly on side of rode on wet fall day actually discard
words person plugging in so that they won't go away. Maladjusted seasons
last years of male civilization, content man driving by in white Honda Civic
telling himself on way back from writes done on lunch break at 1:something.
Full grown woman beating herself up flogging man who loves her, hating
to see her hard on herself for such soft hidden pathos. The person who abused
her subordinate until she could no longer afford to be intimate deciding
that sincerity didn't secure the job she got for her daughter that she made
sure everybody heard her describe as a supervisor's position. Man walking
into words actually images of words reeling after recalling movie Crash
thought depicting world of real characters played by real people colliding
with others like enormous syllables jammed into increasingly shrinking syntaxes.
Woman interpreting dark orange dream as light pink premonition
listens to son coming in at 6:30 in the morning rehashing medium gray dreams
as if they had been black and white ones. Post flanking left side of queen size
bed thought to resemble chess piece pawn on sixty-four squares for 64
different sexual positions or objects pretending to contend with each other
though the spaces themselves dictating neither direction nor intention.
A man believing Thanks-giving by family and friends at Christmas to count
their blessings being together outweighs presents-exchange watching Indian
or Mexican American mentor at McDonald's parking lot advising 45 year old
protégé or son in way that foregrounds mentor’s advising role and authority,
not his advice. The request "May I have one of these" becoming "I don't mind
if I take the whole plate" standing out in the mind of grown man observing
youths he considers uncouth and unrealistic.


Andrew J. Jones

Spain’s enough. God Already
Himself’s blessed the fields. He
Lives just distant from Sunday.
He can hear them drinking.


Thursday, April 26, 2012

Jukka-Pekka Kervinen


Gloria Avner

Anti “Ocean”

Listen you
sucked bones
you dangle
tangled inner

hold me up end
fold me
stop this
or any other
spilling bones
again dead fish
in worn out shoes
an ache a way

no way to stop
her stall her
ball her
make her turn
(your life)
around say hey
you wait you
why not here
not now why
two score 
more to go

don’t go
no stay
this sea this sky
right here
not the winding
bumpy road past Ararat,
down Khyber pass
by folding bicycle
fear  survived revived
Swat valley snowstorm
rescue  on the way
to India to Himalayan
hermit foothills
flapping tattered flag
whipped prayers
gone flying free
from cliffs edge

before Lama Govinda
welcomes all to tea
talk cookies company
before the fevered german
jumps disappointed from the ferry
splashes Bombay waters
drops his wallet
in alleged rescue pull out
via fishing pole and sees
important papers
turn to new wet bedding
for smart starfish

men in uniforms want him
to stop
not walk wet away
and not resist arrest
for misinterpreted inept
attempt at suicide
men with uniforms
without an ear
for languages
shoot holes into your tires

I say stay
here would you
hear me read you
reach you on the waves
across your desk
less than a stone’s throw
though three thousand miles
away and more while Miles and I
play smiling while we sing
into the garden.

Gloria for David on the radio –Feb. 7, 1010


Lakey Comess

First snow

           deceives you into imagining pure space, though treachery undercoats black ice.

Polish defence of diminished capacity — it's almost believable, but at odds with logo led
cultural theory. How many women left you in tears? Curiosity dictates the question. You're
thinking strategy, objective attention. We know how you lie.

Sometimes tongues make sharper weapons than pinpoints of light.

It's as abrasive a sound as you will ever hear — practice doesn't always make for perfect.
Now there is a real blotch on the copybook. It looks like coffee. Here was a private address
gone public and here is a white, open place on a matchstick. I can dance there, too. So could
you, if you had a mind to in your next orbit, skirting explanation.

You have difficulties considering bloody knives following textual assassination. Or is it
asinine textualisation which follows technological surgery?

Your feathers appear freshly laundered as new punctuation.


All these bon mots

Affronted? No, only weary. Affront was eclipsed by a barrage of righteous viciousness.
"Don't look for a reason," says flesh of your flesh, reasonably. "Bullies don't need reasons to

In other words, electrodes clamped onto wrists, forehead, pulse points cannot do justice to
pain printed out on long sheets, graphed maps, peaks of torment, your nasty Himalayas.

Step and goose-kick with others, happy in the thick of it, whirling in throng,
protected by numbers, anonymity lined up for kill. What a racket.

How humble the raised fist, what lost idealism, crushed innocence.

Comparisons are odious, comparing fist to size and shape of owner's heart,
small and narrow. An x-ray will bear out the truth of this, bare the statement.

Now you can truly see — as well as hear — the size of the space you occupy.

Wrap sock around fist for a perfect fit.

Put rock in toe of the sock for a perfect weapon.

It damages, but doesn't break skin.

Choices are uncomfortable, given certain dimensions.


Cheryl Pallant

Kitchen Renovation Sutra

     for Abram

how much
find chop saw corner bead
measure backer rod laminate butt joint
how much where
don’t know which
corner bead dry wall screw
shoot nail compressor sweep
track stud joist double hung stud
frame caulk panel lift crack spackle hammer drill
propane off carry water sweep dirt drill lath scab
load bearing ball cock backer rod
drywall tape cast iron stack
measure which
sheet rock screw jack stud plumb electrical
tighter looser hand me lift there carry
casement circuit file valve bang blow how much hack
mud tape spill rub wash
base molding fur jamb measure riser soffit
center butt joint carry water propane off how much


Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Max Richards

Anzac Day 2012

Another chance missed
of attending Dawn Parade.

This time, instead
of sleeping in, I wake

early to rain, bow my head
to its sound, not the Last Post.

My nephew's class, he tells me,
have been learning about

soldiering and history.
Did I know why the brim

turns up on the Diggers'
felt hats? Because when

they lifted their rifles
to their shoulders, biff

and the hats would fly off.
Yes, I say, and yet

when I was eighteen
I was a foot-soldier

in the New Zealand Army,
and our felt hats had brims

not turned up, lemon-squeezers
everyone called them --

we drilled, we sloped arms,
no-one's hat went flying.

No, in my day there weren't
wars to be sent to. Lucky!

I offer to mimic the Last Post
(in a Chinese restaurant

it's my portable aural
Shrine of Remembrance)

but he lets me off.
Two lucky generations,

mine and his, 'sacrifice'
mere lip-service.


Dominic Fox

Seven Pits (work in progress)

Beginning like ending an improper severance --
the cut thread frays, the dancing cable crackles
across the worktop. Onward under sufferance

towards no known end, pioneer of feckless
consecration, brusque kickstarting tyro,
spatter-gowned convener of debacles:

just see if you can swing this, until giro
cashed at least: make straight-backed riverdance
swish move to exit, grinning down El Toro.


Severance packaged as opportunity
for self-improvement; for remediation,
transplanted thriving, fresh immunity.

I am again myself after a fashion:
aspie, neurotic, wilfully acute;
shrinking from rancour as from radiation

of that last meltdown. I had thought
aspie meant serpentine, or rather dry:
as shed snake-skin, as dying rasp of drought.


Drought being metaphor, scorched to the letter,
do well with similes; reduce to clear
in moments, like a microwave through butter.

Take visionary upsight as a near-
cousin of perception, perhaps ill-
bred: given to trances, to obscure

utterance, to scarcely convivial
fits and moods. Show antisocial splitter
hell-bent on self-enrichment, going fissile.


Trance may be overstating it -- try dazed
auto-hypnosis, low-level mania
sparking within the cloud, transport confused

with tiredness; neural extemporanea
freaking the cortex, everything running down.
No need for draught of laudanum, or zanier

lysergic brain-melt bringing vision on
like migraine aura. I am indisposed
by dint of instress, nursing a damaged crown.


Indisposed, that is, by innermost
disposition; or perhaps hormonal
balls-up wrongly diagnosed as lost-

Eden complex -- sheen of kitchen-vinyl
drying in sunlight being the Eden I
cycle back to. Be it ingrown kernel

or stock implant, perennial sci-fi
premise, there is memory at last
to cling to or set down beside the way.


Monday, April 23, 2012

John M. Bennett

pu to

business meal bought time
hashness skree bell’s
sloppy ring yr hand s
unk in treinta güevos
sitios cops asleep be
neath the curb their
loss hand ,bladed
)testive race( rea
ched the ,nur blank
,pause shadow ,hung
ry for a neck the

drunk fought cloud

]derisive plate crack[
ni modo