the return of the Sisyphi issue
nudes 1 - au dela du paraitre
by Jean Vallette
She was born in December in Baraboo or thereabouts—small, still, blue, a girl, and, by some trick of oxygen, alive.
When I was a child in Garibaldi we were always referred to this duplicate way, as Auntie and Auntie. 'Is dinner ready? Ask Auntie and Auntie.' 'Are my long johns laundered? Ask Auntie and Auntie.'
Is it not possible, asks the engineering genius, that
someday the path may be established more directly? But the world as meditation ravels and unravels its sailors
we're not frozen in living 80 years on a photograph, having a mile of mississippi for lunch
I just let those nimble wonders go to work. I'm like a pianist who doesn't need to look at the keys, or an old lover who has long ago memorized the sweet spots and the right amount of pressure.
On the television, a slick of oil has spread on the sea and caught fire. We watch it with the sound turned down and suddenly we can hear the
woman next door. She is in agony again, groaning her pleasure for the whole
everybody points to anybody else's truth to tell ... smirk all you bunghole want
The mother in number 36 rubs her thighs briskly no doubt they have been built up from carrying men on her back down fire escapes
The Jesuits came today, blurring infinite sorrows of camera
and Mom, leading us into and anon fragrant commodities
Write your cereal (outside the drain where lightning
thought), or boats (in your refusal noose) clamored thinly smattered with fatigue
john m. bennett
chirping HI! two girls voices the same HI! two voices the same in their chirping HI! and catching them now heads turning and flock taking flight
not get near that Medea with a chainsaw
if you knows her betas and cues
better than most their own mother's bed
that fucking oedipus has done it again