..:: CONTENTS ::..

   Volume VII, Issue I

..:: POETRY ::..

..:: PROSE ::..

..:: ETC ::..
   Contributor's Notes

..:: ARCHIVES ::..
   Volume I, Issue I
   Volume I, Issue II
   Volume II, Issue I
   Volume II, Issue II
   Volume III, Issue I
   Volume III, Issue II
   Volume IV, Issue I
   Volume IV, Issue II
   Volume V, Issue I
   Volume V, Issue II
   Volume VI, Issue I
   Volume VI, Issue II


I am Light & Dread
Raymond Farr

Interior ransack
I did so in hell

Ground down to mocking
I opened the hamburger file

I sd 7 minutes
Backwards revealing a position

I took over
The lab
Making language
A beaker

A carpet of virtue spilled over
The edge, s of
A stilt walker
Over which a radio

I seem to have lost the thread

I was thinking I had a ball
At the last house on her street

I scattered the petals
Of rose budded poems

The wooden floor
The deep Oakland dead
At my feet

I stood lost
But somewhere near Candlestick

A big west
Has a deep ruin

I sample it
Like Cherry Garcia

The east is a lesson

Of meat rushing past
Its sell by date

This time a miracle
I'm schnockered on Coors

My terrible breath
Is halfway to Pompano

& more than grotesque

I shill for the juice crowd
Maybe a Sunday
Of church bells
Is drunk like an uncle

The past is a view
An alternate existence controls
The remote

The river's all ice
Yet clothes in a glass're the

Ripples of dead
& little grass corpses
Hold us together

I look all about me

I don't feel that
Ice is a felony

I look at my soul
Of brown autumn hillsides

The words, much of them hewn
Serve out a sentence
In order to live

The birds have white flecks

A subtext
All out of context
Usurps the subhuman
Meaning a foot
At a time bomb

Has crowded us out
Of a dirty white
Rat hole
In purring Subterranea

What is a bath tub
Bootlegged as history
If it sings out of key?

Someone sd
My papers are pending

We delve like a knife
In the all-tchotchke Crimea

The masses
Are bending a pipe up my nose

& fitting a noise
The go-getters revel
Into purple

This time I have notes

I am tumbling towards waves
On a white grand piano

From the back
Of my mouth
I drive six bloody teeth

The sweet tears of oasis
Are slipping away

Into Impinging Ellipsis

The door of all Matter
Gives hope to a changeling

I am holding a candle
My voice is in tow

The town up in smoke
Going Yeah! Baby! Yeah!

But things are an olive

To begin with
A branch

A brkn down dial

Dear dad, the dean of my poems
Is a prefab

A frog that's surreal
As you are, dada

The origins I'm thinking
Are deep as a root

Oblivion's technique

& yes, I am light
& I am dread

The sophist of telekinesis
I pluck perfect items
From the shop's dusty

The side show of a
Traffic jam
Paints on a smile

For everyday is a news day

The particulars
Are remnants

I send off a letter
Talking to heads
Sniffing out clues

O plastic plastic mannequins!
Spawned by machines
& pure elasticity

You nourish

Each hard boiled stat

That house without
Stands nude as a bride

Its windows
Its doors
Its wide steps & porch
A face
That is plain



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