the wrestling with a frogwoman issue
nudes 1 - au dela du paraitre
by Jean Vallette
I was wrestling with a frogwoman, saying No under the grasping sheets, but she was all over me in a gelid, muscular wriggling. And, of course, there was no speaking
A woman with eyebrows and an appropriate
mole that suggests her name should be Colette just
elizabeth b. cho
Put out of their misery on greeting cards or in political speech,
And finally dangled as mangled nouns, now verbs. I try, instead, to shape the word with my hands.
One restless night in a Psycho motel, shower steam rescrawled a mirror-note: "Linda: forgive me, I couldn't—Hal." barry spacks
The book is my only reminder that I cannot take care of this man, this extraordinary accident, this mess.
I know you're going to nibble the guy down the
hall... at just this moment your eyes have the
same look as the night you told me... I was
hungry and then I wasn't.
the playís the
ding, or dong—the collars rise at dawn, there are
phallic astral projections, a cosmic looping, animals
without backbones, or front bones, or any bones
Here the greater illusions were built. Common
screws and paste comprised a cartilage of
Are you Egon? In the dream, I walk through decades as easily as
rooms. to convey the point, shape the broccoli into a pyramid.
itís decidedly unsexy to be a fan of ashes or other soldierly
"I want to caress you," he says into the
microphone. "I want to slip my hand inside the
buttons of that ridiculous blouse.
my goatee is another me I rarely talk about and only grow inside my face for one dental hygienist in town
There was light in Provincetown then—a shine on the method, how pink
or wide the investment, should we ever have to deal between Picasso and Matisse.
And if youíre going
to be part of this world, if youíre going to join, you
might as well get rid of the quotation marks and the
efforts at distance; you might as well accept that
this is your language now, too.
Dim Sum in the heart of the Russian Diaspora, Richmond District, SF ... how poets look strange on T.V... "Opera" Winfrey, Martha Graham, Dan Rather are not poets (one unifying thought might help) michael rothenberg