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The Big Spite

Pounding the piano keys with hammer Perhaps I’m just a little worn Anxious with my ideas about fashion Popular places on this planet Green water coastlining particularly Radical chic blondes Ho Chi minks Linked to gentle underworld types or else: Just linked to my lovely children: Well we can mild warm air and ferry ride…

Illumination from a Psalter

I am not immune to your pleas of transformation. Today I burned all my socialist verse. Outdoors, a gust of wind lifted the oak leaves into a momentary show of hands. To build a life, brimming, like roses after rain, we pour contents from flask to flask, to float some dream. Yesterday we fed the…

Autobiography of the Film

The Editor to His Stoned Assistant: The pans are too slow and deliberate church after church in the snake August haze and those frigging teardrop doors cut ’em goddammit! Indian Extra: What we read comes through muffled no tempo no pace that sudden cold Stoned Assistant Editor: It’s strange the sense of the non word…

A Confessional P.

Superstition, more consistent that dog, God or alcohol, was slathered onto the face of a young beauty I knew Nose, lip, tooth, eye, limb, hand and hip were portraits of such meanings as kind, courteous, honest, brave, weak and true What bliss to be in his presence. Safety was insured, as he always rejected the…

New Neighbors in the South

If only a quiet taxidermist moved in this time! Imagine, he’d sew fox paws all night, polish the delicate nails until they shone like black glass. Or a silent movie actress running her old films with shaking, arthritic hands, the reels barely clicking. Why not a crabby postman unpacking canvas sacks stuffed with dead letters…

Case History; A Sestina

I feel that I should introduce myself. I am X, a not very unusual person, A rather ordinary specimen of human life. At the moment I feel that I serve no purpose, Which is why I am here—I want to feel useful. Also, I find mental hospitals interesting. And I do hope you will find…

A House to Let

`Over there, Bart, on the other side of the street,' Ella said, pointing to a vacant house, its uncurtained windows pasted with placards. It was an evening in early spring and they were strolling back along Rathmines Road in the last of the light, going towards Ella's house, which was just off the main road….

The Hypochondriac

A lump in your groin. A burning in your discharge. You cannot quit the cigarettes or the entire nights spent refining the pointless game of billiards. Setting the smoke of drugs adrift on the afternoon light, you salvage up a time perhaps when spring made a car look great and mascaraed girls from the lunchroom…