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the never seen anything like it issue
fall 2000

We disavow all knowledge of you, repudiate any publications that may result from your present commission (though God knows who would be mad enough to publish such idiocies!), and, as final proof of our disdain — we cut off your legs.   norman lock

A riddle: When I look at you, you do not move, yet when I look away, a dam gives up all purpose, and the natural company of solitude is that fiction called the self.   gil ott

For one must connect to being sometimes the loneliest perambulator on this planet. And an eye for the sightless and sore.  m sarki

Rare the oils summoned to a woman's caress, the tangled hair she brings with her into the tomb.  cooper esteban

Before the thick, banana-scented candy hardened, and became permanently lodged in my ear, I had everything to live for ... 
catherine casper

Now marriage hears it as mechanism and spins in deaf sleep, each part handling the other with motions, as if a creature's at clatter   barton allen

He'd never seen anything like it. The women and their body parts looked like a puzzle of black O's and splitting V's. As he flipped through pages he noticed other characters, an emerging alphabet.   eric melbye

Already I am thinking Potsdam. Do the streets twist? And in Berlin? Do they lead back past the hotel clerk who lets the phone just ring? I would love you in any city. Before in damp Dublin.   victoria redel

Undone, appropriational, virilocal, the long childhood of the white-winged moth — otherwise, only the limbs are cooked and served — displacing difference with an occurrence  
ralph adamo

Oh, le self of the heart, the French and Scottish both told him. He was meant with them on the business of mass communications of music and violin-making in a hotel lobby ...   doug martin

Light was. Salvation. The night. The words. The cold stones in his throat.   ilya kaminsky

YOU are a tongue, an open mouth, a state masking me I scream— you stay circa 1959, said you would, that day, you, rusting, were found in the back of a farm house in Sonoma.
josef aukee

in ease of season. partitions, the place of chance. words walk to empires. nowadays the solution.  allison cobb

A flock of. Blood clots Look! A miracle! cries. Wicked One-foot.  a. h. bramhall

not yet accused, its heart already soaked, smells from some sea not named yet 
simon perchik

She would wash the white walls of his room for him. She does not return his letters. She stands outside this winter when it snows and thinks of her grandmother, how snow would look on the interior of a strawberry.  
ginger knowlton

con notes