Poems from Issue #2

I Believe You Are Now Old Enough to Know

I believe you are now old enough to know
Everything you were ever told is true.

Angels – true.
UFOs – true.

Parting seas, leprechauns,
Baby-bearing storks – all true.

The red jolly child-lover
Here with just the thing you want
Exists!

There is an angel for whom your bloody teeth are gold.

And speaking in my official hat
For a barren and failing empire
With no alchemies to call its own,
I cannot emphasise enough
How much we like you.

We like you. Your smile is pretty.

But if we cannot share your truths,
Be warned: no God holds back our hands,
And we will settle for gold.

Adam Donen

Girl I’ll House You

Our pretty Tokyo girl;
She led us to the subway
We would have followed her any way.

Super Smile on the Shinjuku line ^_^
We’d kidnap her if only it wasn’t such
an unpleasant crime.

– Annie Clueplant

It’s Not You

good times in public spaces
soiled knee caps.
a collective consensus to move
this grubby exchange to somewhere less
distracting.
shapeless polyester dissolving his
desperate interest further
as she steps
into thecab office light.

– Annie Clueplant

Sunset

Sell it like California,
like an LA screen play to a B-rate stripper
off Imperial Highway…
Z-Bone’s?
It’ll be easier if she has a kid.
You have to read the market for it.
Know the infusion of hope that makes her fingers
and toes feel light. Wait for the openness of
hopelessness that spells WIN between her eyes.
You have to know the over wide,
pomegranate smile
of a back-room diva, and understand
she likes to take the sealer off the ‘60s herself.
You have to know the different side
of mirrors.
How to Run the Foil.
And how to chase the silver trail
of snails back over the shiny side
into Eden.
When you learn these little things,
bottle them.
Ask triple what they’re worth.
Like art off Santa Monica Boulevard.
Or the Promenade…

The Western Dream is hermit crabs and shorelines.
The Western Dream is sun set on the beach.
**
In somebody else’s faded picture,
a black and white beach ball
rides in on gray waves.

– Cutter Streeby

Enter Luck,
grinning. Angular.
Cross down stage right
cue
The Flying Dutchman.
Luck: (opened-mouthed)
(pause, listening)
(slapping at fly,
eyes and head
mimic flight path)
Enter Bat, bouncing from ceiling.
(Obviously cardboard – After all
production costs, as we know
can be excessive-
Sequined wings of marker-black,
wax paper.)
Luck (falling backwards, scrambles up)
Bat dances on
fishing strings
revealing.
The marionette.
Luck Flees.
Exit stage left.

– Cutter Streeby

Vung Tau Market

Melons melons melons melons!
plenty of melons
ripe juicy melons
round and
beautiful melons.

Chickens chickens chickens chickens!
yellow chickens
hanging chickens.
Oh little chickens,
how cold you look
with your goosy flesh
on your featherless necks.

Bananas bananas bananas bananas!
curly bananas
shining bananas
grey wriggling shrimps

splashing shrimps.

Vegetables vegetables vegetables vegetables
green spinach and purple oranges
tomatoes and flowers
purple purple.

-Vaclav Paris

The Tree

The tree
pokes its trunk
through the tarmac
like a great brown pecker
ripping open the hymen of the earth.

The pavement ripples up
with sheer joyof penetration.
The leaves
shiver
and I ride past
on my bicycle
bumping up
and down
over the irregular surface
of the ill-kept road
thinking
what on earth
is this tree doing here—
raping it’s way into
the Philadelphia streets
as if there was no decency or sense
left in the world
except sex and
peckers.

– Vaclav Paris

Outro: Debased Creatures

We are such debased creatures;
a divided hermaphrodite.
A quarter woman, a quarter man.
An alloy of fish and scorpion.
Let’s go back to the sea, swim in fabled shades,
to the deep rough bed where language fades.

– Tammy Ho Lai-Ming

Kissing Marble Lips

If I could create you again, only
For the thrill of destruction,
I wouldn’t bother.

– Tammy Ho Lai-Ming

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