POEM thicken volition cushion Tom Raworth the lace teenagers’ orphanage Victor Bockris SUNSET lie down in yellow flowers it’s the whole world Andrew Wylie POEM FOR STRAWBERRY You can turn the pages while Mommy changes you. Gailyn Saroyan A Musical Poem ABCDEFG Davi Det Hompson a little thomas hardy Aram Saroyan
Murder and no names for the excitement of law that the ax cuts my own genitals to butcher her. America sucked on its fuse. The days congealed. The heights of billions of years burned in information. I did not want prose tho the poem could do no more for the Laurel Canyon Road with Deanna…
The long black whip cracked at the wind. And the handle. . . If I held it in my right hand, my thumb would cross between her breasts and the rest of my fingers would embrace her back and come around to rest on the inside of her right thigh. But now, her arms are…
I “Once I saw them execute a twelve-year-old girl. A beggar picked up her head and ran around with it shoving it in the faces of people who wouldn’t give him a coin.” II heads stacked in pails like tomatoes a vast soft haystack sea of women’s hair bodies white as corn doing their strange…
O I feel so free now All the doors are open & all the birds I can hear from here are open too!
You are asleep. The ward is quiet so I slip into your room disguised as a brain surgeon. I take your pulse. We sip the stale water. I take your pulse. This is why I write to you, this is how I began to love you: I saw you on television. I enjoyed your lecture…
She thought I was too old or too knowing. Her glance fixed on John and grew soft. That afternoon at Montmartre I lost them altogether though I knew who it was kissing hotly in the shade. I writhed all night recalling how her eyes switched on as she spoke of stepping out of her black…
(for Larry Eigner of Lynn) outside the window the Japanese pine is bentheavy w/snow & the yellow commune-house looks lk/somewherelse here in #2 i’m sackedout on the offthesidewalk couch brought from the old house & the house before. it’s quiet. the Salvation Army is quiet even on Sunday, the heads in the…
An open shell, Two bone breasts In my sand hand. You next to me, Lobster red, Wild-eyed, embarrassed, Your claws empty, Our minds picked clean by the sun. And the next day our boat went down, Gulls laughing like tourists. Friends, old spongers, dropped by, Lead-headed divers, Squat gas pumps, worry Spinning in their amber…
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