Friday, July 01, 2005

Issue 17


Image (Copyright © 2005 Jerry Hicks)

The best of 2000-2005


kari edwards
Steve Dalachinsky
Barbara Cicalese


5th Anniversary

Anders - Eros - Issue 11

Danny P. Barbare - Cat in the Curtains (Issue 11), Sleep (Issue 10)

Christopher Barnes - Paradisio's - Issue 12

Dave Benson - The Day Arced In - Issue 3

C.E. Chaffin - A Dying Fall - Issue 3

Steve Dalachinsky - Possessed - Issue 15

kari edwards - They Got Discounted Tickets? - Issue 14

Joel Fry - If Night - Issue 11

Lisa Gordon - Monogamy - Issue 11

Joe Hackworth - Chronic (Issue 8), Introvert Exposed (Issue 6)

Jerry Hicks - How Long War - Who? - Issue 11

Corey Mesler - The Return of the Agoraphobe - Issue 14

Clemente Padin - Love - Issue 12

Steve Tills - Helen Keller series - Issue 13

Sam Vaknin - Prague at Dusk - Issue 3

Colin Van Der Woude -Sunday - Issue 15

Retrospective kari edwards Steve Dalachinsky Barbara Cicalese

kari edwards

If you are interested in being involved

without knowing
estranged from a name
mentioning a visit
a representation
a pointer or a sound
or a voice or a sound
in terms of a gesture
as a voice or a sound
preexisting in a resonant
a representation
a surface
a body understanding
underscoring dark
stitched shut opposition
from parent to prothesis
either this or ever more
as a voice or sound
w/out punctuation
or the other
other paradox paradox
serendipitous deceleration
typical spins for abandoned stains

but a promised
an audible moon
part sublime
locus secret
without plans to dispel pain
a secret clauses
in a sacred clause

an appearance of everything
standing free and naked now
in the mood
surging in
either this or ever more

threw in the manner mostly to retrieve

sure fear . . .
always . . .
without a doubt . . .
which one?
part being, part trapped?
which part?
you remember cold as hell?
scissor sounds everywhere................
later, large drops, deposit accounts. and monetary reserves.
a pin drops, a camels disappears
a real red nose, if you know what I mean?
guns, dogs, god?
flowers, slaves, screaming and yelling all the time.
on and on about this and that?
mostly, blow me down.
enough to kill giant gnats?
maybe, but mostly loyalty certificates, and license beavers.
time shares?
a piece for a price.
it could have been paradise.
but it was mostly bored bombers of the bureaucracies . . .
with baby bombs, smart bombs, and big daddy stereotypes
a stick and a rattle
guns, guts and god
rainbows, low income housing and heart shaped phraseology
never thaw, always preheat or microwave?
no, I'm talking refrigerator and demeter...
leisure and a dull waxing finish....
hot cross buns, bangers and blue ribbon
guns, guts and god

few surprises are left

I found an address
it was crumbing
suffering etceteras
though not murder
murder was the question
those with no prior authorization
without a minimum consolation
without a statistical equalization
already knowing a condition is a hat
and the tale begins
I am divided again
you are a sealed theme
groping for once again
I describe the access number
give away the next page
who arrives first
suffers fishhooks and etcetera

kari edwards, author of iduna, O Books (2003), a day in the life of p., subpress collective (2002), a diary of lies - Belladonna #27 by Belladonna Books (2002), and post/(pink) Scarlet Press (2000).

Retrospective kari edwards Steve Dalachinsky Barbara Cicalese

Steve Dalachinsky

door 1

a door opens
is an airy space of wooden legs
invitation to sitting & dining
the possibility of indigestion & discussion
of furni-

door 2

perceives its
agressive nature
closes it
self to

door 3

i nod not
like asleep
but as a
turn & o
like hand

door 4

we enter
from violence
the room crowded veils
a film en
the shark

door 5

day is
air connecting
(do not hold the doors)
is smooth dream

glish is

do you ever dot your
before you


to night to
view your collection
medio tiempo
at the center of how- to- please
tiempo completo
the law still questioning itself
at the median of howstoautoplease
evacuated meself from this
emerged informed but still un-
delayed between this door
& the other

2. for m.g.
longer stronger
& lost
time is changing
all the time
shadow on impassable door
opening itself within
the light
within the artificial light
X          on auto alert
this cold/spread handling us like
a game of hard scrabble
within the house i live
   on     a     huge cube
         Missing     M

a window is somtimes a way out.

steve dalachinsky nyc 3/08/05 on e train & at experimental
intermedia listening to malcolm Goldstein

hernia doubled ( 6th day )

the bird spoke to me
thru the heavy rain on the hollow cans
a kind of tin/morse

uhuh      um sure      i answered
short peeped phrases

i haven't showered in 6 days
being afraid being stronger than being dirty

sometime's earth's too down to death
moving on thru attractions
circles walking like wolves thru bad histories
inked by iron & quill
upon the legs of strangers
names      streets      players finalized
for the time being
at last century's turn it must have been
quite a time back then      expositions
memory moving foward
like fate undoing itself

i am searching for rules
for the missing piece
indeed the light that precedes the coming
any coming
2nd 3rd
even 1st will do

who ever thought that sitting
would be such an obstacle?
what did methuselah feel when he left
his house?
in manhattan
how many sides are there,
it being like a book of thickened sand
with so many side/trips &
so little shoreline?

the rain on the island quiets a bit
as it echoes itself more& more faintly
into the oncoming hollows
in time
we go back like the # of angels
purported to be shadow boxing at g-d's side

lying flat
the pain is diminished
many long minutes ago
the bird has
shut up
i try to clear my throat using only my throat
knowing that to "cough"
will instantaneously doom me
to an
electric shock

should i drink shelter from the white guard's
jacket that engulfs me & protects me from the
process of curse & noise?

should i seek asylum in the word?

uhuh      um yup      my left hand answers

what a GIFT cemented to the oncoming night:
this diary of hungry nods
wandering thru holidays & characters &
caterpillaring across the noses of gargoyles
without ever leaving my room.

but my bladder is full
& the demon that is my zero tolerance
for discomfort
is insisting          /      I RISE UP.

( need i paint you a picture? )

3/17/05 - bus to boston & 3/18/05 nyc - wind flowers ( water creatures reprise )

boxcars on either side of the tollbooth
bumpy ride for wind flowers
tho in wind undulation is not like a slow motion cartoon

there is gentle & then there is the standard
the moat that protects us from ourselves

proof that water exists
that we are not gentle equipment      as time moves us

that we are indeed, in some meta-sense,
made of NUTS & BOLTS

that the arches that form our bodies
are being constantly re-invented

that lots are drawn way in advance
as some of us indeed move into the category of antique
our ABC's more or less intact but
shaped              slightly different

what i hope for is that tables remain on time
what i expect are more delays

hunts & stabs at……………..
                                                 ham longings diminished

laws & sections of laws re-interpreted

that the one way is many-fold
that ologies & nologies are reformed reliably
yet manifest

RU      ACH HA KODESH              RU ACH HA      KO DESH

bare are these days so full with playing fields

light      a new haven in these overcast days of angels

ru ach ha ko desh ( whispered )

yes - i love angels too
                                 they defy thruways
     their linen wings outstretching like yawns
             their things neatly folded in a corner
                     outsmarting the coroner always

LOVE is still a funny word that holds a KEY
as keys open cracks in the cracked field
defrosting the pond

new latent pelts reform our skins
& we are never belonging
never home
must never forget
we are quiet emergency
alcohol & smoke
must never forget
we are driver & driven
mask & sea & land
on the way to delay without delay
a short break within the breaks
god's breath on water
moot & mote

must never forget      we are luggage      litter      cracks
bag      gage
litter      cracks      lug gage litter      light      clean
bare-branched budding thinkers
squawkers      cry babies
I- pods & seminal fluids made whole
cellmates & cell phone phreaks
blank screens that will never reach 100
carpeting on the roof of the father's mouth

boxcars on either side of the tollbooth

water creatures swimming in the flag/furling CON
of the green smothered Lane
in a green steepled whirl

i have become part of this EARTH
a glass half empty
the perfect Host (until next week's rush)
a forum for medicine
water & gate
                 PASS      THRU      ME pass thru me
RU ACH HA KODESH ru ach ha kodesh      god's breath on water pass thru me

crippled symmetry
(morton feldman performed by s.e.m. ensemble@new york studio school 4/3/05)

     mesh of gold/afloodstars

         this is why crippled the leg always tries to rectify itself
         verify tolerance / total spin cluster / why do you melt of the sheen
                 a double-backed diamond enamored of itself
                             high in the low-tones
             grappling w/ the whole range of whiteness?

why so many bare & pockmarked walls in a structure so filled with its own knowledge
             purpled pomped mallets
             creased blue curtains      exposing the fluted pale
                 lowbreathing carrier of greenglassed arpeggios
             what is wrong w/ this picture                  is there is no picture

but what is wrong with blank space repeating itself?
is blank space truly blank as blank is?
why is there maiden transfixed when there are no maidens left to transfix?
                 a so lid tightly a jar      was this lip a crossed/out patchwork
                                         of genocide's attempt to corrupt itself?
it self  always@the fore of my self your self by self by self one's & left everyone else be

………… damned this nagging notated pang. hands that drew the once blue silence
                 now emptied into emptiness. but what is so bad about blank space?
             what is blank? why are these pocked & primed bare walls considered bare?
                 what is empty or full? what does filled with emptiness mean?

Longing?          patches & spots of color on the earth brown floor
                     like there      a spot of red & here a spill of animal yellow&orange
                         i can swim thru the hole in the broken brick
                                         gnaw thru the metal's facade
                         what there is is more of the same
                 & more of the same is what there is but different
     a crack in the quietude a sneeze a cough a rustle a rumble a low driven mimic
                         a crumble of what-is-where-from
                         & the crippling ringing of LIFE


                 an o.k. survival kit

                         peek into space thru doorless doorway
                         look around      sky itself is the skylight
                         see streaks of pale blue on earth-colored
                         semi-circles of off colored creams
                         pull back
                         hit your forehead with your palm
                             scream OH NO      loudly
                             inside your head
                         wash your hands of the whole affair
                 as your stomach begins to rumble like a coming quake
                             drink turpentine
                         glance at yourself in the bathroom mirror
                                         smile fleetingly
                                         walk into a stall
                             sit on the bowl                      & wait

             a mesh of starlike petals unlock themselves from their grid………

                                                     nothing left      to      follow.

3.                              piano lays out

                 12      17      (drops off the quantum )
30 24/ 30 36
                 54 (?)
                                         working in *8's scale of
                     re mi fa      circular          linearities

                     forced to ignore              26/26/22/36//              or

           42              nothing matters      48/28
           mathematics          reg ///
                     4 / 4 /      8      10      6

           stered      18      -     24     <        60

fence            barelegged belch boo
htdtAfbnmkxysu5ereNB VC567*)(*(* &%
           intently listen

steve dalachinsky nyc

these pink roses
( tchicai, smoker, hemingway, lane @ zebulon , bklyn 4/10/05 )

these pink roses
    some plastic shrine
       @ music's feet
                               unbroken divinity of eye / ear -
       a prophecy     deep from within the skull's roots
                                     controlled miles of flexible oratory
    bouquets of plasticity stretching the petals of the bell
                   this sun     this bursting gaffaw
                                                 parked here at the edge of godsland     any jackson knows
       any queen whoever-shed-her-face-of-water knows
                               any revolutionary zookeeper knows
           any weaver of lace knows

any gone logic device knows
any virgin in search of the mystery knows
these unwaving toxic neo-industrial sad unscented roses
enshrined @ the feet of music know
those at the helm of the ship know
that which guides the rudder knows
uncontrollability in an inflexible space
madmen know
scientists know
the spirits
the married know
the sick
the lame
the intolerant know
somewhere in their inflexibly religious souls
the long gones know it
deep within their long gone elegant
           an unfathomable unity between forest & trees
           first & last hucksters
    even the hucksters know
           the soft walls know
           the high walls know
           the low walls know
           the hard walls know

      "I kill Bad aMericans"     -     a harder groove / the gloss of pearls

this holy heliocent
                               world of round holidays

even the humans know
the war/mongers know
the survivors beneath our soles     they know
twice octoped ghosts know
a sound-tale coming closer to inflexible plastic
the face of water
the quint of power
the laying on of long dawns

           prio priopas achordin
                   prio priopas     acru

   loosen confusion & broaden forms
    loosen confusion     & bro a     den       forms

there's that second before the petals melt
that moment before the shrines collapse
when we realize we are all prophets
& fortune tellers
when we all see what the future holds

the wise ones know
the idiots know
the rootless know
the innocent know
           the innocent know the innocent know..

steve dalachinsky nyc

steve dalachinsky was born in brooklyn some time after the last big war and has managed to survive lots of useless little wars. his work appears in many journals on and off line around the globe. he has several books and cds of which the latest are, trial and error in paris, i thought it was the end of the world, st. lucie eyes on a plate, and the forthcoming chapbook in glorious black and white and the e-chap arivin' in the okidoke.

Retrospective kari edwards Steve Dalachinsky Barbara Cicalese

Barbara Cicalese

Party of six

Running out of gas three lights flickering
sky turning the color of kitchen gaslight
wodden signs advertising
antiques war memorabilia selling
chechian lotus flower backbending
thanks for your patronage
see you next season
following midnight afternoons
toddler snowboots and wine
that tastes like fall all sangria
and sunsets no oak involved
it is rare to see the moment
of this ritual played
on the shamisen
tucked in her back pocket
sharing in the most basic sense
two for us, one for them
slightly drunk and whirling
This is sacred and ordinary.

Kitchen floor

even my grandmother is in on this game
sitting on kitchen floor
i can hear the glow from twenty yards
i can smell the shift in you
and me
maybe the pills are working
mine are the color of birchwood
by now habitual, seasonal migration
seems almost sad
this constant hopefullness

i can hear over a year ago
(has it been that long?)
i wonder if a rose is a rose
and grandmom doesn't care
about the rose or its name
how brutal this becomes
this tenacity to investigate
infinity all while paying
for soda in dimes and nickles

I am, quiet simply, sure
of this rarity


It is always worth the effort
deciphering oranges at midnight
what is nameless in childhood
can often be tolerated on long drives
without points of reference
there are many things the tongue refuses
so i said my name again
to god or elvis in every language
i have
i go back to that hour
dropping stones as i go.

The Taste of Severed Things: A Love Poem

Dusk is a girl
pine needle bed

Not wanting, always
to be public
This is us, in ruins
parts that have survived

Surely mass has intention
filled with small

Some underestimate
how erotic it is
to be understood

sometimes a thing must be created

26 reasons to put on your boots
hours of
labor and intention

Conspiracy of language:

Outrage, Blodstain, Chagrin



A girl becomes a comma
like that.

Barbara Cicalese is currently an English teacher in Pennsylvania. Like most English teachers, she has fancied herself a writer, without ever being published.

Retrospective kari edwards Steve Dalachinsky Barbara Cicalese