Into the meridian by Barbara Beck

After Image by JKD, Transience by A. Hollowell,
could by L. Pasold and baited blurs by G. Vance

ride the arcs slices stuck together adjust darkness
burgundy fields a fingered wall aslope the wild line
become imaginary tainted at mean midnight sway
around my table in any old clothes shadowy
within an assemblage of rings muster one room's
worth of flatness floor cookies coke pages lexicons
of luring hold down from shuddering out
dissolving in windows all the people I know
flat-earthers facets of an elusive sum

that by Lisa Pasold

After After Cartier-Bresson by Alex M & Cessation by Jonathan W



what draws me, happens before the couple sits down, before they decide on that parting

in the train station, frowning, before the dog gets lost, before the school clothes rustle,

before the kerchief, the bench, the street, before the sixty years of sleeping together, before the bridge.

ah, before the bridge, the bride, before the photograph, the bouquet tossed into a river, what happens

before all that, draws me, happens again and happens again and happens, the sunglasses so

like before, lying in that place, shoes cast aside, the bedsheets lost, and how

I happen after.

Cessation by Jonathan Wonham

after After Cartier-Bresson by Alex M and Like The Day Upstairs by Amy H and May by Rufo Q and Athena Undone by Michelle N and Doxodox Blinks Morse Code by Rob SO

the couples         undone
        are parting
                in a blur       while

through leafy haze
         undecomposed morning
coughs up
           frail
                    bouts

of memory
      pollinated, balanced by
               the swipe
       of life

     in a splendid flurry
down
        the summer street
                 the young woman’s

skirt
          flecks
the dog watching
          together
                like slander
in off-white shades

              and though
        I
             begin
to wish us

            unbridled risqué
in parks, on benches, on bridges
          routing out
               time passed

what draws me
                besides
impossible
      ashen letters
              is to concede
          in her hair
a white
               kerchief's
       cessation

un cap franchi by Lisa Pasold

after The Question's Moot by Jonathan Wonham

culinary bruises, there's the space between
her names, heavy and constantly
white-night capitulating. all nightgown and balcony-
bloodied juliet. every inflated disagreement
redressed, her receptions keep turning into
my deceptions. rearrange my tattoos
and i'm set for the next amorous equivalency.
once swallowed, the question's rather less
than promised: however many storeys up, the ground
becomes moot.

Like the Day Upstairs by Amy Hollowell

after May by Rufo Q


Like the day upstairs
nothing is undone --- not me, finely
pointing a nose through leafy haze
to the same thing,
undecomposed.

Morning coughed up frail
in clear light
can’t be saved.

In recent bouts of memory and dream
flowers fell and pollinated,
balanced by the swipe of life
like fighting cats on the wall
lost in the splendid flurry.

NEW: May by Rufo Q

It came in dreams like the day upstairs

on the bus commentary from a tourist

bus came in the window and all

of us were like nuclei or vanilla

flecks in ice-cream;

                                    the same thing

given like corned beef to a cargo cult

to everyone to chug away down

the pollinating summer street

with and do with what they will.

Image by JKD

after "The Question's Moot" by Jonathan Wonham

statuesque corollaries
.......................dissolved in windows
.................................................of which you speak
transparency’s
........................neon grappling
................................................needled hands informing
replications of
........................cagey grassblades

promised balconies

ZERO SUM STARTBACKS by Jennifer K Dick

after "Infinite Sets" by Jon Wonham

O blink me the oblique apex of the whole low curves

of an elusive sum swinging aslope intersecting lives

merged articulations emerging in cropped selves’

perfect resemblance of parity’s particularities

pried omens clam-shelled fingergrasped wonder

at the endless wandering refractions splinter-spluttering

contractions of I end-stopped by the eye, seen, to preen

in the mean median of the obtuse obfuscation gazing

green underhill or taken or whelmed, a realm of

omniscient over climaxing or –es in the growl fowl merged

to grapple blossom and seeded back to black cores' cords

suck sipped juiced jittering worm in the worldly wormhole

of this apple set (stet) infinite passageways beyond O overt

"Athena Undone" by Michelle Noteboom

After "Athena" by Jennifer K. Dick

meat slab &
slander
under wraps
plundered skirts

tomes in off-
white shades
moldering
purblind spite

memento-mori
moot busker
thus turpentined
slattern swills

unbridled risqué
shaft shunt
routing out
another comedo

The Question's Moot by Jonathan Wonham

After Terminal Figure by Barbara Beck.

And could "your hat" survive "among graylings?" The question's moot. They sold "your three-dollar throat" and bought a five dollar gullet "with all the live elements rolled into one." Hence "your culinary bruises." Some took exception to "your cold little beluga" since all at one time or another have been "cradled in a water loop". About "mud flavors" they agree to be "unduly woken ie. voluted."

"Your rock that contains two generations" now contains three, since "your ruby pivot" was not without impression. Could "middle name" become last name? I think, yes, it possibly could. "The heavy task of tamping" weighs heavily upon us all, and "constantly". "To the left", of course, always to the left. "Your half dream" matched our half dreams and "kept" like an "uncombed" language "in a ravine" as if dedicatedly designed "for usufruit".

"Your white-night capitulation" pares the one-off from the singular as if "to the neon marquise" it does not really matter that "no one's touching anymore" and "anyway your Thursdays" are "not sequels" or even prequels "but parodies" drippingly entitled "picnic by proxy". Some find "your dilemma" not to be their own, as if speaking "of the red-tiled swimming pool" could improve neither "your mnemonics" or whatever left you "flat out".

Get "over early morning misgivings" since "each day's headdress" will be its own redress, "your igneous underlife" a rallying call both "ripped forth and" sent "forward. Now it's every sunset motel" for itself and "every glass lover" with their dreams shattered, "seeing out of" the one place or thing "whose eyes" leave "you" to "vacillate".

Evolving "your amphibian" keeps them "on-ramps" but "once engineered" serves "for getaways" that imply "no". It's "diversionary" in the sense that it is also "traction" but once you "haul yourself out" it's just a shamble and a leap "to the end of the prospect. Your dorsal view" has long been respected in the same way that the products "of a lime kiln" respect what at once "surrounded" them "by equally" dissolving their "statuesque corollaries".

"The other windows" of which you speak "are", by definition, "cagey" in as much as they are "arrangements" which once "full of wind" may seem inflated, as if "the bromides" were meant for them and "you" were left to "swallow" only "as cloudspotters do". Beyond them, "a promise of balconies" leaves us "with evident" shortcomings that some might call "vocational" and others mere "trysts".

Of course, "your amorous equivalent" is not the equal "of a garden conversation" but someone who "can't tell who's ticklish. And" it's not, finally, the same someone "who's bilious". All of this "greenth" just as "your votive finger bowl" greenth the seed "coming after" or touches off "a" harmless "series of ill-fated litmus tests." Either to "stop or" to "go" might still, legitimately, send us "hither".

And could "poking" fire "up quarrels" as others "speaking" draw us back in to their "near-body" experience of "accents." Even if "your deceptions" are our deceptions and our deceptions yours, any "killer" of "equations" can figure what pierces "to the deeper tissues". These are the issues of which "the refinements" are many, and wonderful, and still most thankfully "to come".

"PreFigure Object Count" by Jennifer K Dick

after/a sieving of "Terminal Figure" by Barbara Beck

hat graylings
three-dollar throat
culinary bruises
beluga cradled
water loop mud flavors
voluted
ruby pivot tamping uncombed ravine capitulation
marquise, not sequels by proxy
red-tiled mnemonics
flat headdress
igneous underlife sunset motel
glass lover vacillate amphibian on-ramps
engineered getaways
diversionary traction haul
dorsal view lime kiln statuesque corollaries
cagey correlations full of wind,
bromides, cloudspotters, balconies
vocational trysts,
amorous bilious votive
equivalent litmus STOP!!!!

Hinterland quarrels speak near-body accents:
deceptive equations in deep(her) tissue refinements.

Doxodox Blinks Morse Code; Sophia Lethe Translates & Replies by Robert Savino Oventile

after SF's "Fragment 3"

D: to act toward disappearance
SL: wills disappearance’s appearance
D: inevitably a misappearance
SL: willy-nilly images will’s persistence
D: nihil-I still a will-I
SL: a problem?
D: will ceases, the muse appears
SL: ha! so a hope for appearance
D: but also: “only pure absence […] can inspire”
SL: besides embarrassing, you are impossible
D: neither more nor less than ashen letters floating up a chimney and skyward to summon Athena in the guise of a British nanny
SL: for your sake, no comment, except to concede: the brainchild’s fiery, surprising appearance from the cranium’s side may imply will’s cessation
D: so call the will the heart’s foreskin
SL: which concedes to me
D: willingly

Transience by Amy Hollowell

after Decadence by Nick Urban

Unveil the eyes
and bearded lips

a thigh, crazed thumb and index
to the wild line

still sculpting the longgone
sky.

FLASHLIT by Jennifer k Dick

after COULD by Lisa Pasold

Flashlit
editing backlight
through a utopian key
darkness wooden
adjust her scavenged sentience
forbidden silhouette
brass brighter
in pick-up sticks
blurred to fuchsia
liplock

Infinite Sets by Jonathan Wonham

after 'Apex' by Amy Hollowell

O perfect resemblance of particularity
blink to me the apex of the whole that can’t be

rise up obliquely in low swinging curves
following the slope of our intersecting lives

merge articulations of an elusive sum
to the endless selves of our daily wonder.

fragment 3 by sandy florian

After RO's Sophia Lethe Talks Doxodox Down

d: to split the soul, no the ends
sl: or just split (finally)
d: to dis-embroider the soulful edges
sl: circumcise the heart
d: no, to amputate the legs, no, the fists
sl: at the line on the wrists
d: no, at the shoulder, no, at the
sl: chim chiminey chim chim cheroo
d: chin, yes, the chin, no
sl: the sweep is as lucky as
d: the mou -
sl: lucky can be

TERMINAL FIGURE by Barbara Beck

After Whit(h)er by Jen Dick, Stainless Sunset and Youthful Trust by Michelle Noteboom

your hat among graylings.
your three-dollar throat with all the live elements rolled into one.
your culinary bruises.
your cold little beluga cradled in a water loop. mud flavors unduly woken ie. voluted.
your rock that contains two generations.
your ruby pivot middle name. the heavy task of tamping constantly to the left.
your half dream kept uncombed in a ravine, for usufruit.
your white-night capitulation to the neon marquise. no one's touching anymore anyway.
your Thursdays, not sequels but parodies called "picnic by proxy".
your dilemma of the red-tiled swimming pool.
your mnemonics flat out over early morning misgivings. each day's headdress.
your igneous underlife ripped forth and forward. now it's every sunset motel every glass lover seeing out of whose eyes you vacillate.
your amphibian on-ramps once engineered for getaways no diversionary traction. haul yourself out to the end of the prospect.
your dorsal view of a lime kiln surrounded by equally statuesque corollaries. the other windows are cagey arrangements full of wind.
the bromides you swallow as cloudspotters do a promise of balconies with evident vocational trysts.
your amorous equivalent of a garden conversation. can't tell who's ticklish and who's bilious greenth.
your votive finger bowl coming after a series of ill-fated litmus tests. stop or go hither poking up quarrels speaking in near-body accents.
your deceptions and killer equations to the deeper tissues. the refinements to come.

Decadence by Nick Urban

After "CRAVING" by Jennifer K Dick

anvil eyes
declining the meters

angelic at
last

CRAVING by Jennifer k Dick

After "In the Rush" by Jonathon Wonhom

pressed against the sky

.................................air-stung

..................................................ravenous

Peacock by Brandon Shimoda

after "could" by Lisa Pasold


Get in, the
Brighter
Lights the

Transmission the
Strike, swell of meats weathering
Together

Gargoyles winter in the lush
Like
Sand, the scavenge

Strikes, the hickory
Of
Prejudices

Collapses the chain
Of arms
Gather, get

In the lights, ropes of tails grace
The water as
Voodoo

Swarm sees
The edits in
Grease

Water penance in circle
Li-
Chen, the familiar

Tense solarized
Models
At

The counter
Careless
Invention, weathered

Meats in the
Swell, take this eye
Let from the casing

I meant history when
I let
History

Be bound
In victory string
Peacock

To get her involved
Or
Involute

Could darkness into silhouette
Come, in
Lush, winter

Removes the source
Stuck
To the neck

Wrangled the very
Meat you
Stalled again

could by Lisa Pasold

After "Mixed Penance" by Jennifer K Dick

strike, struck, scavenged. sticking herself together
voodoo-like then collapsing in pick-up sticks, flash-lit,
flesh-bound. it's all
in the editing.
darkroom penance, blacklight
backlit, her model
solarized. "But I meant" history of,
invention with (intervention within) custodian
and concierge argument, as if
there were a key that the doorman lost. utopian,
what could, would. adjust
darkness,
feeling
along the wall, fingers coming into
silhouette, blurred, assembled, her
convinced, conceived, and
getting
brighter.

Athena (New)

by Jennifer K Dick

A centered red-metal tablet and her eye,
ear, hear, hard of
wimples or whimper in the dampered dumpster
She barred wings and broke opaline bows
shadows shuddered out of her
prior cloaks, disguised name-calling
diagonally dismal,
.......................seemed rough, riding
into the meridian, cuff ruffled white
tail as in feathers or farther off
spit spot short-sighted, snow’s false face
her codpiece, her wedded-to window
iron mildewing or root-bodice
cream curdling ancestral ash
....................................buck to
break back against her, tidal, torrid
the azure topaz tourmaline collections
staggered in the buff brush winds
to see, say, sway forward as marble
registers stillness, wood-slat rooms
visitors' steps
...................round her table, tell
tales of brazen arrowshafts’ wooded arc
night-flight forest-fronded defiance
her obsidian grazed-gaze gambolling
gazelle making light of air, our
touch reach retched back-sprung
to based, debased huntress
hounding

...baited blurs

by george vance

After ‘Mixed Penance’ by J Dick


penance growing beneath words' root
metallic-creaking grey dreams rolled blank
closet-rustling refugees listening cock-eyed
Lisa’s grasses softly forming between burgundy fields
luring-hook snipped to
this preamble wings to steam palimpsests brighter
:

Mixed Penance by Jennifer K Dick

After "Height" by Jill Darling following Maksik's "Half-light"

Mixed penance
growing
beneath and between
words
cut at the root
a metallic
creaking eucalyptus
over grey half-light
two-quarter dreams
rolled restless
signalling another blank
flash-lit broomcloset
child-scavengers rustling
refugees in rows
listening cock-eyed
to Lisa’s tales
pampas grasses
smell softly
letters forming words
between lips
burgundy
fields
lexicons of luring
baited hook
halls snipped short
rocking to and
against this
preamble
blacklit wings
boiled to bone
iron pots steam
palimpsests
into brighter blurs

EQUATION by Amanda Deutch

after "Earrims, pieces gathered" by George V. and "Apex" by Amy H

my whorling body sums

assemblest all the rest
putting on houses over head
stone and wood costume over skin
naked underneath
round to the nearest daily motion
amounting blinks to increase wonder
if an equation:
blinks = instants

doors revolve you
soonish
meantime, relish all the decimals
yes pls continue to

height by Jill Darling

in response to Alexander Maksik's Half-Light: NEW

screaming
restless
over grey half-light
among eucalyptus kisses and a
two-quarter flashlight

a metallic
mixed
pennance

growing beneath
and between
words
surgery smelling softly
cut at the root

rolled
creaking
dreams

Scene: A Figure, by Jennifer K Dick

After Amanda Deutch's "Two Scenes", 5/11/07

●
Scene: A figure of the self, I,
or: Solace

red barked
.......................slim-lined
staking in
......................on
myriad notes,.................scrapes
..............scrapped readings
our voices......................(mine)
trifling
..............I
.................or I
........................or
My in the multudinousness of
mees
.............knee-shaken
.......Crevasses
cuffed to the

escape

image-trap
an escapade
........................you
........................in the
........................mirroring
glazed

Earrims, pieces gathered

by george vance
After 'After Art After...' by Laura M & 'The mathemetician...' by Sue C


my whorling miss, know :

bodysums
e(re)volving : (re)solution :
(re)assemblemembered

∞ = you³ -(all the rest)

X

me to the nth

rounded to the farthest decimal

.

The mathematician to his lady love, by Sue Chenette. After φ by george vance

The mathematician to his lady love

lark me in spirals
incurve me round the tender rim of your ear
dance me dunce-like re. tagged averages
helix me a voluted capital
the sum of our traction will yield multividing
mine us introuvable in the them

Stains from Loopy Waterfronts by Jennifer K Dick

After "Stainless Sunset with Interesting Water Loop" by Michelle Noteboom

try
sly
coming
in the slag
to bring ideas
home you see if the shadow
you are is really
translucence
if you tell
what’s going
what’s down………another
face-in
an urban speaks dwarfing
elements (while (whenever you were) human(e))
out in vast glut
gut de(con)struction
gutted or groutted
it’s ………………..no one is
anymore anyway
so slip the it squint shift or
makes thinks mine shaft
a lime or a conditioned
junkyard
image this dismantle
your city brick
prick and shallow
bowls hybrid vines
dusty orange 15-day squirrels
you still yourself
striving
a way to asperity
once engineered
the core
bean

After "Scenic [Route" by Jennifer K. Dick, "Sonnet 7/11" by Amy Hollowell, "Inside City Light" and "A Kind of Soft Sound" by Alexander Maksik

In the Rush
by Jonathan Wonham

Dreaming shivering
take me in a photograph
pressed against the sky.

Take me in I am
air stung, ravenous
spread for me

dark and soft. Against
this withered morning
I will fit so perfectly in

right there slide me slowly
down metallic lanes
and revving, vanish.

After "Burlesque" by AD "Echoes" "Whit(h)er" "In Somnolence" JKD "A Kind of Soft Sound" AM "Imagine Laid..." BS "Stainless Sunset..." MN "Glut" JW

(Please note, as the blogger format doesn't allow long enough lines on some screens, that this is meant to be all in couplets, with one final last line.)
We Carried Shallow Bowls
by Sue Chenette

We carried shallow bowls through thickets of oak and thistle
past Blockbuster and Rush, Sleep Comfort, Blinds To Go

balanced them in both hands. Sometimes
wandering the mall after work we saw reflected

flashes of flightless birds familiar with tufts and feathers,
displaced in vague parts of our body. Or bonelets

fell in splintering the blue places forgotten.
On soft mornings the bowls cradled mirror-echelons

clouds whorled and rafted an inverted sky and then,
or nights when satellites and planets hung lit in the dark water

it seemed deeper. We weren’t sure.
From time to time the surface, pinguid, exploded in flame

and we staggered, stiffened our arms to save ourselves.
Some burned, woke again as white dust

in the 3 am fluorescence of our television screens.
We grieved for them, rain troubled our thin roof.

Our palms thickened with calluses, fingers warped
around the particular shapes of soup plates, saladiers.

Our necks cricked looking into them.
The bowls grew heavy, and when we came through dusty vines

to October, its yellow leaves pressed tight against the sky,
we laid them on the grass. It wasn’t the water’s shimmer we missed

when, with a kind of soft sound, we set them down,
but their rough concavity against our hands:

concrete, or stone, knobbed gourds, gnarled ironwood.

After Art After Shadow (November)

After "Articulation of Shadow" By Jennifer K Dick
by Laura M

in body in
recognized pieces failing
to sum

say mislaid

how many times
can you take
a face

apart those fluffy white perfectly round clouds
suspended under the bed are full of baby

spiders
in body abruptly written off by the coverlet's
edge and in voice somewhat muffled

assembled in memory

that small gathering of glass
figures grouped around a missing
cradle missing
child start

again with the eyes
or the image

After AH’s “Sonnet 7/11”

For the Impossible
By Robert Savino Oventile

Withdrawing luminosity’s veil,
light unfurls shadow,
where, in darker sightings,
black becomes raven; and red, crimson.

On a street corner,
under noon’s blue dome,
stands Henri Rousseau,
playing his violin, imagining.

Needing ever fewer photons,
sight ventures toward plushest shade,
as if the eye could receive
what the sun cannot show.

New: φ

φ

by george vance

spiralarc II minus
spiralarc I
deeplythin
redundancy III.ii
bentstraight inthat
tagged averages

multividing yields sumtractions
________________
√ [ 1: 1.618/x ± 0 >< -0]

quite illogically the it
is ‘introuvable’ in the them

After Amanda Deutch's "2 Scenes"

Scenic [Route
by Jennifer K Dick

●

I alone escape
this drain-pipe life
sea-anemone
beaten, lacerated, aired
in the bluff of my voice
detected

Register, I, along
perfume and metallic lanes
garce, name-called, gouine
mustered up texture
sandpapered eyes
called I
I call
.......Mount
...............Mounted
.........................Motion
(this?)
_________________________

................................(that?)
Closer,
..........come-
...................hither,
feathers
in a wide-brimmed white cap
emoting scaled facades,
gloating
laced lines paced
.....................along turbined hills
in Grasse on a soaplabel
turn-of-the-century
dried lungs buried
among my packed pickled
plucked-up diversions or
cemetery pines

detected? -ing? -ive?
..........................I
..........................am
............a live one

After various LP, RQ and RSO Sightings

Sonnet 7/11
By Amy Hollowell

Dream notes gleaned
For astral works
Firmament bodies wellhung with
Sweet heavenfruit
In the blue nightfield of revving
And I wonder at dark sightings ---
Every soft and hard where
Here street walking l'éphémère
Or l'effet mère
Or les faits mère ---
Learning light through shadow now as
Rain strips the day, leaving

Red berries a bare cluster of
Clitoris in the pine.

After Rufo Q's "Further sightings"

Until Further Sightings
by Robert Savino Oventile

Was last week
a slice of bone?
Now it's just there,
everywhere in Paris.

Nobody, hordes,
together again,
out on the boulevards,
like marrow.

No, the town, my friends,
couldn’t take Atala
off the star I need seen.


NOTE: “Atala,” in this poem, refers to the asteroid of that name that occasionally eclipses specific stars.

After "Whit(h)er" (Version 2), by Jennifer K. Dick

WHIT(H)ER
Version #3
by Brandon Shimoda

particles float in the morning bonelets break flags accordingly skeletal, sagging splinters, the terrible bags, hers hears my confectionary burns white while steeples while through dust, away, whalebones prick ineluctable sky dost cast a statuesque pillar of bark and foam, an inveigled rib parts like cousins pulling hands from the bridge, a way for carcasses to carry Charon’s boating to eye-thicken portaged without

clothes, with out-closing lace manifest in the baling moss hung from trunk’s desire, is taffy—lenses' bottlebottom like ruby lips drenched through glass openings peer at her (me) we’re ladder-rungs (you, by the belt, by the middle state, the soft foot wedged into the potted drum), echelons steepled in white while dust cloud-climbing Lethe’s muffling wavelets, like boating, like limbs (sacre), livers (orders), lugged over lucubrations of flower-conversation in lapsed artefact—get fur le snow

artifactual plaster where found the Spain, the commonplace powder unhemmed, what will wise lessons restitch rays of oll-revealed atoms, teeth like thieves narrowing into wood, lay (me)(you) horizontal in the kestrel, find (you)(me) shaking a thicket over thistles, tapestries palmfrond our hands over mouth over thighs over sighed sight ululas

tonsils, larynxes…….boxes, springs, conical heads, the tail in the greenth produces a hand…….lettuce…….launched into…….choral…….inflammation laid with ceremony corralled…….by her ……. sere shift ripped forth and forward float low…….ing raft tile tilt, whirl of, while…….white the flesh stretches the world whorled of…….particle…..splitting

After 'sighting' by LP & 'Two Scenes' by AD

Further sightings
by Rufo Q

Nobody in Paris
had seen the moon
until Atala;
now it's everywhere.
Just last week
there it was,
mid-afternoon
like a slice of bone
marrow.
Out-of-town friends
took me out
to take my mind
off it
but mulligatawny
& chicken
chow mein
couldn't stick me
together again.
No, what I need
is country stars,
hordes
of them, stetsons
cocked, cooing
on the boulevards.

After Amanda Deutsch's "Two Scenes" & J.K. Dick's "Whit(h)er"

sighting

Stars and contrary stars, ignoring the aurora,
or staring star-mouthed? green, the brain's
skeletal confectionary portaged together, go on:

stick me together again, give me a new
colour ripped forward, flow, whirl, turned and
clavicle-split, pace-maker'd, peace-brokered
on that moss-ice melting re-
member how it felt
on the tongue, membrane stretching.

what a heist
that was, hoisted (you might say)
on some ceremonial arctic petard, split
particles & participles
dangling. go on: i'm still
waiting.

New: TWO SCENES by AMANDA DEUTCH

Scenes 15 & 44 from Amour/Mort/More

Scene 15

Stairs and contrary stairs
stares and dangerous stares
myriad of crumpled notes
I try to read them
Do I try too hard?

_______________________________

We didn’t prepare me
for perfume and metal
and everything is
perfume
. . . metal
. . . . . . . . .here


Scene 44
(I, alone)

Can I escape. make a clean getaway
shimmy up. drain pipe.
hoist. my body.
over the stone wall.
to another side.

or will I get caught. up in. the trap of images.


Go on your way evening boulevard.

lacerer
maroufler
lacerées marouflées

beat it
dust
do it again
make air

call my bluff

mister monsieur detective
you

After “Imagine Laid with Ceremony” by Brandon Shimoda from 30 Oct

Whit(h)er

Version 2, By Jennifer K Dick

the particles still to float in the morning bonelets skeletal splinterings, her, my confectionary burns white steeples through dust, whalebones, ribs, carcasses to carry over Charon’s boating to eye-thickened memories

................................portaged together: desire's taffey-lenses' bottlebottom glass like ruby lips drenched through hotel openings peer at her (me) we’re ladder-rungs, echelons steepled in white dust cloud-climbed upon Lethe’s muffling wavelets, limbs, livers, lugged over lugubriations of flower-conversation in a lapsed artefact,

....................................................................artifactual plaster powdered unhemmed lessons restiched between rays revealed atoms' teethlike thieves shaking a thicket of thistles, paled tapestries or palmfronds or hands over mouth over thighs over sighed sightings

.......................overhead ululas, tonsils, larynxes launched into a choral inflammation heard laid with ceremony corralled by her, my, imagination in the seered shift ripped forth and forward float flowing of the raft tile tilt, whirl of, while, world whorled of, particle-splitting

After J. K. Dick’s ENVELOPPE and S. Florian’s FRAGMENT & THE WARDERS OF EVE

Eve’s Poet-Hood
by Robert Savino Oventile

If she sees the instant seizing her
as her breeze-imbibing author
who, by warding her, provokes her
to look away toward a tree anew,

If her ruby-scaled witness
(of coal interior, granted)
suggests, on eating the tree’s fruit,
she will de-dis-resemble said author,

If, in her disarmed sight,
her claustrophobic
partner’s glazed
getaway gaze implores, “Yes,”

And if, simple, sensuous, and passionate,
poetry implies touch torched,
then, in Eve’s ward,
who loves Eve’s poet-hood best?

After ‘Quintan 1’ by Amanda D, 'e lonely c' by Rufo Q, & ‘Extant Towers’ & ‘Enveloppe’ by Jennifer D

subjective correlative
by george vance

withered frogamphibians wined nobody
justlike a wombman
breathed serpentine honey
lasslovers jumbled
spermicidal
crimsonrubybloodorangelic
skeleton
greeneyed
autist floating a usedfruit world

(meddling with apple-reds/rusted skyflavors

dissembling glass

After EYE CONTACT by R.S. Oventile & SORT OF TRUE by Geo Vance

Enveloppe
by Jennifer K Dick

Sight's disarmed
...........................trust
I
....or I'll
................ale in the inked
wind, voiced over
...............................indelible
who in the who's who
or
whodunit of slit-throated
eyes
.........dazed
...................touch torched
alter
........dismantled lean-to
.....................................loan
serpent-throated me wanted
substantial
...................(iated)
de-dis-resembling
towards
my (that) (their)
culprit
...........getaway gaze
...............................glazed
ruby
rubenesqued
coal interior of its milky iris
my
witness(ed) (ing)

After QUINTAN by Amanda Deutch

Extant Towers
by Jennifer K Dick

She tastes like glass
honey serpents
the red tongues of cobalt buds
out the back past
maroon steps
Heated bricks and nightcloth
greygreen white Jouhet sky
lichen or salamanders scaling
ragged walls She tastes
of ropes rugged dripping
mossy undertows off rowboats
scales of palisades
troweled earth, shoulderblade
she in the on the tongue of
afternoons' transparencies
plasticized dawns touching
othersides, whereas, wares
scavanging mirrored shes
to know of taste or tastes of
razorthin rust-colored
iron file-cabinet flavors
filling the mouth her
tipped tongue lead
poison-apple-red scavenging
to crystal

After “fragment 2” by Sandy Florian

Eye Contact


This eye between me and alter ego’s,

Eye contact’s blind moment,

Sight’s organs disarming to learn touch.


By Robert Savino Oventile

After ‘NOT SO FAKE’ by Amanda D

After ‘NOT SO FAKE’ by Amanda D

Sort of true
by george vance

I

every so sudden serpent upon throats
me want to be substance
nearer bodies
walking disas-
sembled
unpartitionedtogether

you