Palm Reading by Jennifer K Dick

After Cole Swensen’s poem “Fingers: Alignment” from The Book of a Hundred Hands (U of IA) (Swensen’s poem is online at: http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/cole-swensen)

We (read I, read the eye of the) cannot congregate

declare (I do) the constellation (I’m bound to)
blind, blunder (I’ve always known it), but

you have never before (have you?)
complied

with the people I think I’ve seen every day,

(have I seen, am I, and then to see is, at sea)

and then of the people I
four or five days a month

a mourning those I say twice

I’ve known (I have been known to)

(I know you, too) by this.

Texture.

and then once, and then I knew (was known) by no one

Suddenly, you say, sudden

crowded

integrating

interiorate

catapult

integral

This is just what I’d imagined
you knew
of sky, and my lost roads maps
wending our pathways out

overt gardens, overt landscapes scraped

shaped into his gardens

(you do know who I speak of? Ours, and hours)

I hear my voice

(yours)

This is an echo
this echo is this

is echo’s attempt to speak

etc.

I’m (she is) (you are) (we may be becoming) blind,

so

who can only see me
within their hands?

.

Christmas card, by Lisa Pasold

Rewording JKD's Passages & Sean Standish's on the road Meeting three

Here I am trying to spoil all that wanting between landscape and drawing, the usual latent stationary for recycled causes. To complain that we use a language, any of them, to pull us apart, drenching the view with a different syllable. Happy holidays! Glad your envelope isn't here. (Nothing is empty.) What if we say the relationship was successful, simply not permanent. There. Lick sealed this Unicef card’s melting view of the glitter-bedecked polar bear. To find your address will require a Sunday strike-through. Pull that hat hard down for 4 minutes, for 33 seconds. And hold. 

The Poker Wars of the Southwest Coast, Contents Page by sean s

Rewording The poker wars of the South West Coast by Lisa Pasold


Preface: Two Wars Between: the South West Coast
Prologue: The Then-insignificant Port City Will Begin Your Real "Noir"

Chapter One:
The Story's Not Only On the Outside Easily

Interlude: Forgettable Face - Leave a Wish, See You After

Chapter Two:
But your work also has a couple of pennies (which lives in a hotel laundry)

Chapter Three:
laundry will search for an every day melting trough over the robot.  Still

Interlude: Era Like No Other Woman

Chapter Four:
even a special lady just does not fit because of your talent (no husband, no kids, no home)

Chapter Five:
Do not care, and a bold determination to give up job to be true professional

Chapter Six:
"You" Leaves Behind and Neither Is: The Citadel of Poker Playing

Epilogue: Where Purposeful's Most Famous Takes a Job

Porches, by sean s

Rewording Jennifer Dick's Passages.

Place somewhere in my out held hand

nodes of a cage, the (un)physical

beat between bars

because

unable to collapse the pause's wave-form

I, because

to collapse the world's porches

holding out some steps for some steps

verbations   barbarations

a p(a(u)l)se s

becaulmes

mreal

wholmdeang

Passages, by JKD

Rewording Sarah Larivière's Coronary Conduct and Sean Standish’s 3 Day Weekend while listening to the Youtube video of John Cage’s Dream

And here I am trying to spoil all that

is wanting,    waiting

between notes in Cage’s Dream

landscape, a 4’33 pause

between

I,

because

I, unable to draw indications,

lament striations in the latent stationary

this                  a card

holding out for a (our) destination.

.

coronary conduct by Sarah Lariviere

rewording of Jennifer K. Dick's "Where These Two Sides Meet," which reworded Erin Mouré’s “Coronal Bone Suture”

but NO wanting Wanting

wanting but NO physicality I thought, holding out

  to                                           (for)

    drawings with indications

   of Style

  of Saturn's sabbath

               (get up... 

                              get up)

Where these two sides meet, by JKD

Rewording of Erin Mouré’s “Coronal Bone Suture”—as a rescrambling of the original + small additions. Published in the now-available Lana Turner lit review, issue #5: http://www.lanaturnerjournal.com/toc-override/erin-moure-coronal-bone-suture

“I am a rabbit

wanting

in

physicality’s memory

my treasure

you,” I told her.

“But no!,” she retorted

“Words are beings

sutured.”

Sustenance abjured

this glance

stretched frontal

spacing

one comma between

each

of us.

Wanting that

pirate,

I thought, holding

out to            (for) 

her

this dismay.

3-day Weekend by sean s

There was nothing on my front porch but quiet
and my hand hanging from my wrist for a few decades more,

and here I am trying to spoil all that.

Whown by sean s

After JKD's Who...

After a conversation, who

now

were I as green as a twister's

now

who

sighting

down the roar unfearing northlike

a cat's eye under basement steps

now, a little farther

a little farther

the boreal under my roots

under the steps of my Brooklyn

were I under my own steps

my o'n

Eurydice's vision, by JKD

After Sarah Larivière's Turnstiles and Rainer Maria Rilke's VII Orpheus, Eurydice, Hermes in the translation by J.B. Leishman (1976 publication by Hogarth Press, London)

And there, winding through the silver-ored darkness in need of a glimpse

palm up

fish-eyed, cateracted blue-hued no more than a bulb’s pivot seeking sight
the needlepalm

the napalmed blossoming orange-red flair of –up—and—this—and she, centerfolded,

wraps, palm-frond

emerges into the jilted sage spread-eagled lip pelvic opened canister of pornography,
sliverpalmed

a sentence(d) akin to the stem or coat-tails collar in the act of being carried off
palm-film

stuck at the catch threshold ground–surfaced mustard yellow in the potting shed torn
snapshot palm of  

her-rooted sound of heavy porphyry in the darkness’ red red rudding of to see just

her palm

held single twistered pathway round turning unto and back to and recalling silk-smoothed

palm

reached out towards near tactile field-space breathed into contact’s untouching festered

blackpalm

night underworld sword-shrouding length of sheathed castoff to be stretched, carried upwards

over Avernus’ palm

then backtripped, she's returned to thickspun cocoon ear-muffled silence undersnow, re-grounded here in her, 

slack-palmed

Who... by JKD

After Amanda Deutch's At Home and a conversation with Michelle Noteboom

Who would I be

now

if I were

right now

in Brooklyn?

Wanting to just be

a little farther north

sighting

the aurora borealis

and a green

as a cat’s eye aglow

unfeared

unlike now

in the basement

waiting

for the twister’s

past.

turnstiles by Sarah Lariviere

After Jennifer K. Dick's Glint

palm up
in the dug lawn,
bulbs pivot (in-on)
the needlepalm

-- up

this

is in a magazine, the centerfold
jilted sage (sage) SAGE pornography,
into focus, silvergreen

(sentence)collar in the act of being
carried off
filmsticked

mustard in the potting shed

snapshot of the palm

Glint by JKD

After George Vance's  De Keersmaeker at Le Manège de Reims 

corps-polygraphy

girlurgling quilted morningsong

spun stunned Persephone

towered dreamwaking from under

the grave dead gesture

of emergence

this

outof infrom

a test’s tasked

quickfreeze tableau

focused

farscape or shouder-point

her-shed

nightyearnings’ link

between known (non) points
a

vector in plainsong

to b

sharing spots, places taken

in turnstyles

being (to be)

a specific sonogram

New: De Keersmaeker at Le Manège de Reims

cesena

polycorps

bodysongs corpophony

helping hands helping the quick helping the

dying into the grave

dead reawakening from the black bower

tercento tones and peasantry Brueg’ling crowds

called to task by a farmer’s kyrie

outof infrom the body

nurse’s therapist’s gestures

quickfreeze tableaux

moving bodies moving moving bodies

jumprunning scampering fucking about

surveiling guarding safeguarding

presented selves focus on far points no points

running amock saved by more helpingquick hands

cripple-hops

group vectors herd-pointing

a yelling plainsong

sharing spots, places taking turns in them

taking turns being human taking turns being

a specific human

saying good-bye to 700 years of yesterdays

bodywrangling

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