tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79070712011-10-23T06:31:19.386-07:00CompleteFiction comes out of the UNO Madrid Summer Seminar 2004. We are a community of writers sharing ideas and information. "The skill of writing is to create a context in which other people can think." Edwin Schlossberg "The author must keep his mouth shut when his work starts to speak." Friederich Nietzsche "Shut up and write, forget the dishes, nobody cares." JesseJesnoreply@blogger.comBlogger1141100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-38618130243069899062011-07-14T22:35:00.000-07:002011-07-14T22:38:45.550-07:00

Tegument(inner)agreement and argument cease yet never beginno flower, lotus or brown-eyed susanunfolds slowly or instantly waiting at a bus stop and wateringa tree that owns itself without admission exploration and seeking at onceworthless as meditation and other hidings not even only (more)each perception judges completelyattempting to recall this while listeningincreases the perception (insided

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-6734808197303789142011-06-22T19:53:00.000-07:002011-06-22T20:02:13.908-07:00

my sayswithout saying something thats nottrue do something about ita few years agoi said yes and im not againstcharity invites itself alongyou da man entourage who do you think our celebrity is going to be oh no really sorry cause a comedianhaving a habit to make awkward situationssleeping in bed of surprised nothingsee you around the building i thought aboutalot batter up loves of america its

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-142609896666983952009-03-15T17:30:00.000-07:002009-03-15T17:31:38.599-07:00

The Bats: March 15There’s nothing new on, but the bill comes, cold, loud,Dressed in a modest envelope that says I won’t put out.Outside the man has a can of sound he plays to the eavesWhere he has removed the grill to find it is still backed by a screenOf which no bat could slide in or out, which is preposterous, really,Because night after night I have parked my chair to hear the meepsAnd

Jesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-75664177228489397222009-03-07T22:06:00.001-08:002009-03-07T22:07:03.323-08:00

For Jes, because she keeps it going around here long after we all got lazy.You are not permitted to mark your bodyin honor of the dead, to use needles or inkas a way to diminish the hurt. There must bea separation between things, betweenthose in the ocean and those on the shore.I must learn not to reach out for a ghostin the night, try to uncompose all ofyour songs, find a way to imprint on my

Lilit Marcusnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-89054464056001399442008-06-17T08:46:00.000-07:002008-06-17T08:47:51.039-07:00

I am in the bathHot water pouring in the new bath salt giftLavender and rose petals,Salt.The lavender from the older maid without children whose manCouldn’t stand her birds.Assault.The rose petals from the mom whose professor [ex)} left her when she conceived a son.SaltPillars that bind usLooking backBereft of all that flowsIce 9, Ice 9Pillars, that we are. At dinner, before the bath, the one

Jesnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1164493324249631072006-11-25T14:16:00.000-08:002008-09-16T19:40:17.261-07:00

DiscourseThel=lit tent with deer,hart powering outa reindeerCactus arms akimbo- (This=is important not to be confused with the Roman signifier) lit resin fire is in the center of the scene-

Jesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1163219238077585342006-11-10T20:26:00.000-08:002006-11-10T20:27:18.096-08:00

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1162959414124038632006-11-07T20:16:00.000-08:002006-11-07T20:16:54.126-08:00

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1162959376661457142006-11-07T20:15:00.000-08:002006-11-07T20:16:16.663-08:00

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1162959327389733962006-11-07T20:13:00.000-08:002006-11-07T20:15:27.390-08:00

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1162959196583896872006-11-07T20:12:00.000-08:002006-11-07T20:13:16.596-08:00

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1162946052659411342006-11-07T16:12:00.000-08:002006-11-07T16:36:19.386-08:00

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1162944416594645262006-11-07T16:06:00.001-08:002006-11-07T16:36:34.496-08:00

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1162944391575823422006-11-07T16:06:00.000-08:002006-11-07T16:35:38.320-08:00

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1162944366394145542006-11-07T16:05:00.001-08:002006-11-07T16:06:06.396-08:00

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1162944340279805452006-11-07T16:05:00.000-08:002006-11-07T16:05:40.280-08:00

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1162944313015564472006-11-07T16:04:00.000-08:002006-11-07T16:37:08.626-08:00

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1162944201034043802006-11-07T16:01:00.000-08:002006-11-07T16:03:58.206-08:00

´µµ¶·¸¹º»¼½¾¾¿ÀÁÂÃÄÅÆÇÈÉÊÊËÌÍÎÎÏÐÑÒÒÓÔÔÕÖ××ØÙÚÚÛÜÜÝÞßßàááâããäåææçèèéêêëììíîïïðñòóôõö÷øùúüýþÿ "#$&'(*+,./02345789:;=>?@ACDEFGHIJKLNOPQQRSTUVWXXYZ[\]^_`abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxz{|}~€‚ƒ„…†‡ˆ‰Š‹Œ‘’“”•–—˜˜™š›œžŸ ¡¢£¤¥¦§¨©ªª«¬ ®¯°±²³´µ¶¶·¸¹º»¼½¾¿ÀÁÂÃÄÅÆÇÇÈÉÊËÌÍÍÎÏÐÐÑÒÓÓÔÕÖÖ×ØÙÙÚÛÜÜÝÞßààáâããäåæççèéêëìííîïðñòóôôõö÷øùúûüýþþÿ !"#$%&'()*+,-./

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1157832139399977692006-09-09T13:01:00.000-07:002006-09-09T13:02:19.413-07:00

Jyoti Is(for she who is the only she)This opening is not a forgiveness needed or a space appearing vacant the back of your hand an imprint softened granite; petaled breathOpening begin the past a granule twine seeds within the tide an approaching separation as renewal of bows a shared estuaryFormed through giving over memories as current combine coalescing and dissolving yet the

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1152777047599127622006-07-13T00:50:00.000-07:002006-07-13T00:50:47.610-07:00

i give overand again within onlysubject in movement tippingloose and softened to the nubsa nail growing onthe top drawn foldedtaken the root levelingplacement routing another memorizedact as ifmeaning in consumption dormantsunderneath what is dividingat timing a specific colorthe backdrop fallen revelatoryinstigations birth further onlythis annointed abstraction durationeven unity consisted

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1151784156140278762006-07-01T13:02:00.000-07:002006-07-01T13:02:36.150-07:00

Ars PoeticaIn observing Piss in the Corner,That the art is drawn around itI am compelled by the right anglesThat the floor meets the perpendicular wallThat the wall rises like a monolith, like stoneHenged into the mystery, that so many times on the streets of ChicagoThe men were making art Of grates, of newsstands, of alcoves, of seaMeant to be overlooked and yet in looking there wasPisa and the

Jesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1146759915174739122006-05-04T09:24:00.001-07:002006-05-04T09:25:15.186-07:00

At Night Stars Forget“Two years of shells and bombs—a man won’t peel that off as easy as a sock.” All Quiet on the Western Front-- Erich Maria RemarqueI.Tonight the wine flag caught the sunsetUnder the dog stag and the tortured willow The birds are singing now, no they are weeping. Tonight the flag draped the coffin of the man in his chairThat buried himself in doubt and tribute.

Jesnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1145769712473791982006-04-22T22:21:00.000-07:002006-04-22T22:21:52.483-07:00

WE WANT YOU TO USEless soil and grabbing diapers when the cooch is not the shoesaid outthere or sound for monkey or sound for cow or soundwhat does the say what does the saywhat does the sayshat does the say moonshat does the say shat does the sayaragon are hair aragon arsewhat doves the she say what doves thee saynot oink no not oinknore like wink wink wink moreliken asperate asperate ratttle

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1140206295425645802006-02-17T11:57:00.000-08:002006-02-17T11:58:15.436-08:00

what does it matterno one will read this anywayso now I will kill some puppiesby beating them with a bagfull of kittens

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1139465645645988322006-02-08T21:21:00.000-08:002006-02-08T22:31:13.640-08:00

im sitting in fontsorryfront of a computerbut actually i am sitting with oneand there is a lot of rice wine to the rightof the keyboard and also in my belly and im worried or concerned about the other day i was walking down the streetok broadway and i had on my long black coatwhich my wife char bought for me because she thought it would make me come into my current ageand i suppose you have

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1139461636605801482006-02-08T20:52:00.000-08:002006-02-08T21:19:27.930-08:00

a stick oversized roundunder held towardsand in sidedforced and later a show through lightone name and them the one namerepeated signal a response to meaning nothingleft of center an limp plowerflow no wards off center the objectionchannel the eleven know a stretch the pullthe chain the not considering a nervous wipebrow and second monitor the call read hearinglooked for at home wandering for the

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1138063090103493212006-01-23T16:14:00.000-08:002006-01-23T16:38:10.136-08:00

entry as finisheda few weeks as fin de siècleor aquatic period with liquidas bloodless time as well differentiatedthe mattress on the floor coldand radiated drying two feet out or not underthe search became the ending or standing placefirst the point then the infinite points to lineto angle to mass to object to movement/time to velocity to observerof course the innovator was fearlessit came

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1133587658533189192005-12-02T21:26:00.000-08:002005-12-02T21:27:38.543-08:00

I came to a conclusion tonight which is worth sharing. Bush impelled us to war in search of WMDs, even though there was mounting evidence that none existed, even though diplomacy was not exhausted. He flip flopped his agenda from search to occupation, to salvation through Democracy. Clearly, if we do not protest invading a country in order to spread Democracy, then we need to stand down in

Jesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1133506376154919912005-12-01T22:51:00.000-08:002005-12-01T23:09:01.333-08:00

Orphic vacuumUndone by the hushAfter a steady diet of crickets, I call from the dark.The MedicEmpty kerlix boxA hand alone on the groundMan cannot be foundWaiting for the MedicAlone the cold sleepsOutside the tree frog creepsDay blind stars pierce dawnCreation in BaghdadExploding shells, shellsArtillery fire and blastCells divide at lastNumber 6Writing the Haikua leaf song on solid stonesa flesh

Jesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1132199643532260392005-11-16T19:51:00.000-08:002005-11-17T16:37:27.270-08:00

We are fighting and dying for nothingevidence unfolds in the still bright puddles of mud Democracy spreads in the plastic battle dressings and Kerlix The rain comes down like Panama, thick and sticky with bloodEvidence unfolds in the still bright puddles of mudThe man crumpled, loose jointed, bobbing, a machine slowly breaking down. The rain came fast like Panama, thick and sticky with blood This

Jesnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1130630834778748172005-10-29T17:06:00.000-07:002005-10-29T17:07:14.796-07:00

translate somethingscaffolded assyou hearscaffolded sexual hunger entry cutthis and maybe allscaffold shit somethingsend to something youwant whatever elseor something from get offfishing grammar, hunting found a letter postpaste a strikepost yourpost Ipost ideasa me journalpost adviceyou the around phoneticallycut up a writer write about it to friendsinvert other to send it andor a translation

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1130613946680503912005-10-29T12:20:00.000-07:002005-10-29T12:25:46.680-07:00

Get off your regal asses and post three poems each.Ideas:something horriblesomething foundsomething cut upsomething scaffolded from something else.Something scaffolded from someone you really understandsomething scaffolded from a writer that you hate.Something overtly sexual that I might enjoy.Something that defies grammartranslate, phonetically translate or invert a translationwrite about

Jesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1130092727670520162005-10-23T11:38:00.000-07:002005-10-23T11:38:47.676-07:00

1. the word orderhere the angles are sharpersteps run soft, longsoapstone shadows from lightnot of Helios leavingthe church enteringinto the water the greenfur drawing hair over hairbefore the temptation birthedout of the self, canalsfilled with bicycles and repetition,smoke in the doorwayspiercing past rays throughthe diaphonous cloudsheet, their boats, shoesfilled to the roped seam-line,but

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1129615734296559642005-10-17T23:03:00.000-07:002005-10-17T23:08:54.736-07:00

I am drinking the colytewaiting for the testa hollywood colonI am drinking Guarawaiting for the resta Winter salonI am drinkingand my son is fallingI am drinking tofind the snowglobe that is cancer insideand the chldren come and gounable to sleep on the late fall nightThe glass breaksthe class breaksinto a million fragmentsand I have to go becausei need to be clean on the inside.My son, my only

Jesnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1128319502288213932005-10-02T23:03:00.000-07:002005-10-02T23:05:02.293-07:00

Is it that god’s will directs me or free willThe leaf spiraling down after the rainOr that I defy gravity and lift over the mountaintopsA spring seedling unfolding in the Iraqi sun.I have dreamt about the two rivers, the land ofMesopotamia and wear the scars of Enkidu in my left handOr am I a potential killer, dark slayer of Humbaba or the girlThat walks holding the hand of GilgameshI am

Jesnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1126929924183539282005-09-16T21:03:00.000-07:002005-09-18T08:16:40.660-07:00

Fiction is truthabsolute and breathinga stone coltdead in the bageverything after the birthand birththe one hand reachingthe gate,the pen

Jesnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1126151029777843012005-09-07T20:42:00.000-07:002005-09-07T20:43:49.786-07:00

a word is elegy to theconstellation of perception. Neutrinos piercing us from dead stars evil eye holing the head.Words in the mouth are tongueskissing and being kissed.Memory, a silver fish like spermswimming back to seed.They say bread resembles wheat rising in summerthe warmth of breasts.The invisible gesturegreeting against the cheek,Mourning negotiated in timber The tenderness lost in the

Jesnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1125953138441366042005-09-05T13:45:00.000-07:002005-09-05T13:45:38.456-07:00

To UNO friends--Many of you know Brenda Quant from our CNF classes. She was recently in both Suzanne's and Janice's classes and in Amanda's 2004 fiction, I believe. I was certain you'd be interested in it, so I'm forwarding it.LyndaTo all:Sunday, September 4, 2005 Ted and I are fine.  We thank everyone for their prayers and kindnesses.  Ted is on his way back from Selma where he transported

Jesnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1125770075858785622005-09-03T10:35:00.000-07:002005-09-03T16:07:40.956-07:00

http://hurricanepoetscheckin.blogspot.com/Bill, Nancy, Kay, Lee Ali and her sister Rosa, Dave Brinks, John Gery and family, Andrei CondrescuRed cross links- http://www.familylinks.icrc.org/katrinaSUsan Schultz sent this email: I got this message from Laura Mullen, who teaches at LSU. I don't thinkshe'll mind my sharing it:The extent of the catastrophe--and the lack of aid,the slowness &

Jesnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1125069451861883942005-08-26T08:16:00.000-07:002005-08-26T08:17:31.863-07:00

What have We Become There are now anti-Sheehan protesters! Groups have mobilized to protest against the mother of a soldier who questions the purpose of her son’s death. We shouldn’t be surprised. When violence is chic, hatred of women runs a parallel course. Historically, when brutality and violence rule a political course, women are reduced to a narrow role as producers of war machines

Jesnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1124660739729188832005-08-21T14:45:00.000-07:002005-08-21T14:45:39.736-07:00

When you left, I wrote a poem the size of a bulleton the side of the braceletyou bought as an apology.What is the heat like where you are,strumming your invisible guitar?What can you say in Spanishthat you could never say to me?

Lilit Marcusnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1123857973746223982005-08-12T07:40:00.000-07:002005-08-12T07:46:13.753-07:00

two colors separate mergeinto a third labelnot either also not other elegance as a keyto reality next to ultimateuncreated partial recordhesitate remains unbein a vacuum as alwaysdetdetritus detritusdetritus rare acknowledgedunsually a case given pauseone page dying the nextinborn mores structuresadam threat recedes onto distancelimbo bomb requires couragehow to pour out how to pour on

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1122187622067994612005-07-23T23:41:00.000-07:002005-07-30T21:02:41.770-07:00

I.First, I had to give up horses.The spectacle of meEyes, breasts, a milkshake,The good crotch of a tree.....We should glorify the female roleNo burka, shed the hypnotic leavesOf the Nepalese tea. When it could hold seed it could do more. When it could be void of seed it was worth more.Before the truculent bitchCould work, consume, but never thinkAnd now we can

Jesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1120524890606397052005-07-04T17:52:00.000-07:002005-07-04T17:54:50.613-07:00

Hotcakes are the new Pink¿ Functioned to Throw Me Into the L-A-N-G-U-A-G-E Alone?I mean I want to tell my story straightexcept that´s not howmy hair grows, & willnever bethe buns journey across the sky.Where the world emerged, or worlds,if we are taking this any seriously.Lets look howour first footstepruins the room, the world.hey share the moonbecause whereever the creationis will write the

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1117869351747733792005-06-04T00:15:00.000-07:002005-06-08T00:13:37.450-07:00

The greatest lights are the stars that reach from the distance. You, and all the sky.Jesse

Jesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1117836023923506872005-06-03T14:49:00.000-07:002005-06-03T15:00:23.936-07:00

Handle In Light Now That Its SeenThis is my street he sayswalking on the curb join hands with fearbecause there is a direct transmutationwith motion here and approacheach minute detailed in a shadetoday of all days running throughwhen glass is sight or emptyseats are visible downstairsand the grey, a combination, is the splitthe water is level but reducedold thatch and sails going no windthe

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1117155957043753902005-05-26T18:03:00.000-07:002005-07-18T14:14:29.080-07:00

In the Moody Slougha handIn the wind through laurela fistIn the sand of Baghdada gunand I am undone.

Jesnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1116896084643795632005-05-23T17:52:00.000-07:002005-05-25T00:10:31.200-07:00

"It's not my faultbut I am a participant" (or how we won the war with our cape on)afternoon with gavin douglasFour veins after the gays and manners there and active bow, upon her shuddered bare as ache had bone and wide undress within waving her hair allows it to traceAdonis wise without burning with fire using alone fool of all ice and year to we all, lost country, that windy region and

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1116121568263731192005-05-14T18:44:00.000-07:002005-05-14T18:46:12.886-07:00

A man with a hammer.The place where a key used to be.You were, my love, you were.Only clear things.Only water and vodka and chardonnay,everything in glass.In order to prove mountainsthere must be a valley.I opened another bottle.You spoke of Anne Sextonand Virginia Woolf, about howwomen who write are women who drown.All your problems look like nails.Poems are people, too,with mothers and

Lilit Marcusnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1115329221724250262005-05-05T14:39:00.000-07:002005-05-06T02:13:11.236-07:00

transient servitude(composed of two parts: "proem" and "poem")itmaybeneededtovisitthe cave, the street, but these expandfroman unseenstation outwardover waterings andwrong lefts leading to rightcircumstances and entranceis anywhere they lookwe are there acrossthe canal the flowersare blowing clean past a tower of markingthese marks betray prescribed meaning in the untrue theremust be an

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1115250048577421812005-05-04T16:40:00.000-07:002005-05-04T16:40:48.586-07:00

HERE IS THE REASONor explication means to run the mind comb through itselfone could see the implication of questioning is argument was importantor could see the silence in answering and the slant it reveals or see the opening that the spaces provide physically in differenceor consideration brings the veils back up you in front of the screenor sit down and breath through it finding only what is

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1113539131490061032005-04-14T21:24:00.000-07:002005-04-14T21:25:31.490-07:00

My Unitarian Jihad name is Blessed Mutual Assured Destruction of Reverence.Take Unitarian Jihad Name Generator today!Created with Rum and Monkey's Name Generator Generator.

Jesnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1113502933183629752005-04-14T11:21:00.000-07:002005-04-14T11:22:13.183-07:00

It’s strange how snow falls in some placesand not othershow in places it’s thick enough to fall throughStrange how being single makes you a writer againhow pain makes you a writerFalling into snowIt’s odd how a lake in the middle of nothingodd how four hours sleep makes you a writer againhow five a.m. makes you a writerstrange how mountains give way to sandthen stretch to flat Americato central

Sivannoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1113063582291920982005-04-09T09:16:00.000-07:002005-04-09T09:19:42.293-07:00

I think getting to know someone is a lot like having tea. At first you sit properly with your best manners and polite conversation. There is the weather, poetry, then talk of the past. You start to look forward to that shared time. In fact, you start to feel a bond in knowing that you don't have to start from the beginning anymore, there is enough shared knowledge to start where you left off

Jesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1112113237906138382005-03-29T08:19:00.000-08:002005-05-26T18:20:35.666-07:00

Angus bloominghills unhid and bald out like eyes.A pen, a wretched claw,a carbomb, a sickled sky.Crow black bursting starlingsof funnel cloud intothe tracers by the Blackhawk air.Daybreak mosque,the morning prayer.Rubble swallows, mudnestsamong the dead.When you return, I will lick the glassout of your forehead,tuck you whole into the light.

Jesnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1111420049804314242005-03-21T07:44:00.000-08:002005-03-21T07:47:29.806-08:00

New York has a street named after everythingI have ever walked past, pretending not to see.Humans are traffic, trading scars.I’d cross the East River, but it is only an inlet,saltwater frozen for the winter.This is a city weary of being told,an old woman who just wants to go to sleep.Although she is frozen for the winterI will find a way to live through this season,not quite frozen, not yet made

Lilit Marcusnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1111201818713845372005-03-18T19:09:00.000-08:002005-03-18T19:10:18.716-08:00

Why, father must I, Jerusalem when I left the theater crying and those earrings dangled from your hair Who, mother are we, California with a Chinese stripe across our lip Half of the time we're gone, but we don't know where and we don't know here The dancer in bed between us the differencebetween your Anne Frank and mine When I followed your coffee cup tongue-thrust amidst

Sivannoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1110691930323262912005-03-12T21:29:00.000-08:002005-03-21T17:03:05.743-08:00

I. It was lying therea breakfast squarecool glazed stripesa sugared crust likea scab from the severancedisconnected like the bouquet of fetus filled balloons at the back doorrisingangerpumped out flaccidthe tonguelike a tongueor a breakfast squareportion of satisfactionsquared II.PiThree point oneforever a portion of a circlelike the platebisected by a dessert forkon the Rhode Island Red

Jesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1110344114875655582005-03-08T20:48:00.000-08:002005-03-21T17:05:04.640-08:00

She could pull me into her softnesshair warm like bread and breasts risingShe could say why and know why and i couldput my mouth over her and know all of the words.The man,lost in a maze of deception could onlytuck a verb, hide lie and try hismouth over me but couldn't get the words he couldn'tknow why or say why and only wanted back inside.The man inside the woman can see the beauty of his

Jesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1110343602392323602005-03-08T20:43:00.000-08:002005-03-08T20:46:42.393-08:00

My tongue on the table, yours held Mine was bad and learned to slither down the neck and over the back and around to softness and need, I learned to fuck like a life depended on it. Secrets of your desire tucked inside me. The deeper you wanted to bury it the deeper I wanted to take you in.Yours was truly, then it was Taking on the take while you dragged your self up the tower, while the bower

Jesnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1108709415217814492005-02-17T22:33:00.000-08:002005-02-17T22:50:15.220-08:00

How jealous I am of your radio waves.Of your midnight wherewolf sessions.Of your boxed plums.While you are transgendered and rampantsomewhere, a lamplight, I am unfamiliar.Those letters were written long ago and youyou are stranded in the city lights and the darknessthe darkness so good you melt the rain.In the decoding of bedsheets the radio flickersnow you are Delphicnow you are.Your radio

Sivannoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1108521492408967032005-02-15T18:37:00.000-08:002005-02-15T18:38:12.410-08:00

went down the holethrough the loam damp worm spacevelvet undergrounddowndownworld with no endJesusfalling in me falling on me falling and fallingrelentless fallinga bead eye into the dirt lashinto the nostril loamover the fur and down downdeep into the animaldark leviathandark swallowedpast the lips

Jesnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1107925760717762952005-02-08T21:07:00.000-08:002005-02-08T21:09:20.716-08:00

give us your Bushwick, your Brighton, your Bensonhurst, your Bedford- Stuyvesant yearning to breathe free

Lilit Marcusnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1107709024344707832005-02-06T08:55:00.000-08:002005-02-21T19:48:16.266-08:00

cut in half for the publicimpaled upon a sharpened screamburned alive and mutatedfor the mansponge balls and rubber dovesprat falls and circus ducksThat the coin collapsed in the bottle thatthe man pounded into his own hand to release I used to beand then I was not.

Jesnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1107317963568488852005-02-01T20:18:00.000-08:002005-02-01T20:19:23.566-08:00

forgive me we were delirious that plum in your box in my box so sweet and folded that I have eaten eden and you.

Jesnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1106895966884849032005-01-27T23:05:00.000-08:002005-01-28T13:05:22.523-08:00

What the frock coats of coal crows hidden shears to leaden leaflets a white table cloth, a slashed cowslip The fall of the landscape to crippled cliffs hand kisses on the backs of dim dead soot everything takes place in a civilized way First pupils enlarge to feed on effigy of light under open shirts never so much Manhattan skyline! ceiling candlelight in the bottle of childhood to keep out,

Jesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1106636348038610842005-01-24T22:56:00.000-08:002005-01-24T23:00:48.880-08:00

I didn't mean that I didn't that an I melon is which than the blue tourmaline if there is tourmaline if there is ash if there was fire that we are no longer It was here in the morning- Skin pepper When you were your breath Like my father's port but your arm was sleeping music crumpled like sheets, Eyelash folded wings. Didn't I Which me alone That I didn't want If there was ash If there was

Jesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1105290128589090162005-01-09T08:59:00.000-08:002005-01-18T22:47:01.540-08:00

Letter 1 A thousand and one times today I thought of you. Purr at my hands, Breasts rising like heat, the celebration of bodies different You, bearded and strong with need. You, mouth and tongue and hands. What could I say today, that I wasn't delighted, that my body didn't wake to a Calling for more, that a thousand and one times today I thought of you, that like the River Merchant's Wife,

Jesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1104941537536875822005-01-05T08:06:00.000-08:002005-01-05T08:13:53.853-08:00

Dear Jack, Barnacles are complicated things. You delight in the strangeness of thick ribbed carbon laden shells, where I do not. Sometimes picking up a sand dollar off the ocean inter-tidal zone with barnacles on it is inspiring, but when I've looked closely, the barnacles were still alive and it bothered me. Unlike words floating into the universe of forever, these things smell. I don't

Jesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1104820238942024522005-01-03T22:28:00.000-08:002005-02-19T21:40:25.390-08:00

I imagine cutting myself tonightLetting out America. I imagine my arms spread likeJesus with his arms blown off in war. You think the cut would be the wrist inA pristine enamel tub, but you are wrongI imagineMy white forearms spread with a knife, butOne is not my hand, maybe it is you that cuts me America.But I am cuttingAnd we are there with our white, white skinThin and young with this mouth

Jesnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1104456262549476002004-12-30T17:23:00.001-08:002004-12-30T17:24:22.550-08:00

We go to war with what we have Butcher peace for what we lack Improvise a Dumsfeld knave Build the future on soldiers' backs We butcher peace for what we lack Electrodes, beatings, torture collars We build the future on their backs Oil, poppies, death for dollars. Electrodes, beatings, torture collars Machiavelli and elaborate lies Oil, poppies death for dollars Butcher all the endless spies

Jesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1104304315507877132004-12-28T23:10:00.000-08:002004-12-28T23:11:55.506-08:00

before there was a voice all the thought went in to the sky was a wrestling glance three movements dropped film on the eyes may have glazed over sleep and a dot placed inside vision became an event and the wall foresaw the spectacle was the fragmentation internal or outside there are constellations holding under grip will not contain standing but now only mumblings the placement was

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1104107206722092172004-12-26T16:20:00.000-08:002004-12-26T16:26:46.723-08:00

Lorca on The Duende: Theory and Divertissment Any man - any artist, as Nietzsche would say - climbs the stairway in the tower of his perfection at the cost of a struggle with a duende - not with an angel, as some have maintained, or with his muse.  This fundamental distinction must be kept in mind if the root of a work of art is to be grasped.

Jesnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1102919045199245852004-12-12T22:22:00.000-08:002004-12-15T20:39:38.460-08:00

Meconium, a splash of darkness on the Rocks, a frail hiccup of astounding courage Repeated and defeated the late breakfast And early midnight The ghost cloud goo dripping into Polyester pants with cotton linings like b read lines during the great Depression and melancholia after Two dried cracker s in the earliest morn Heaving and heaving like orgasm on a good day But it is in the throat and

Jesnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1102224367117498102004-12-04T21:22:00.000-08:002005-01-21T20:10:36.540-08:00

FEEL the softness and the quality of the man of five o’clock shadow with temple grey hair in his yellow challenger fleece which provides freedom of movement for hiking, backpacking, or cross-country skiing, or smiling interminably with his arm around the downcast blond watching her feet. She is Stepford smiling on 83, he is camp pants on 61. They are not black with corduroy coated child under red

Jesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1101173150711298472004-11-22T17:24:00.000-08:002004-11-22T17:25:50.710-08:00

Love and transformation Souls of the unborn pressing hips Whispering Hippolytus Hippolytus What have you become?

Jesnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1100727689066041102004-11-17T13:37:00.000-08:002004-11-17T13:41:29.066-08:00

Every wall is made of bricks, even you. It is simpler this way: give everything an opposite. Make every answer into a question. When you are a monument, I hope you mock the air. Use your words like a pistol. Wear your hopeless clock like a slipper. How else to explain concrete and satin? Love and loyalty? Men and other men? Before long you will be immune to daylight.

Lilit Marcusnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1100210092496732022004-11-11T13:52:00.000-08:002004-11-11T14:00:56.830-08:00

I totally respect the people who serve, and today we honor them with Veteran's day. With all our jingoism, I am still stuck on the isolationist, pre-emptive striking, arrogant mentality of Bush. I am shamed by his arrogance, as is every man and woman wearing the uniform. WE DO NOT BELONG IN IRAQ. These are my convictions. I want the backward “Jesus-will-solve-your-crap,” “My God is more entitled

Jesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1099945591775267762004-11-08T13:18:00.000-08:002004-11-08T12:26:31.776-08:00

OK, so it was a bit confusing for me, but I figured out how to maneuver around nycgirl.com and Rae's column. We should all go there, so she can make more money. : ) Plus, it is yet another format for reading the writing of one of us Madrid kids, so, we should do it for that reason as well. Also, if you end up in the right spot, there's a weird "Rae dancing" thing happening, which can be a bit

Sivannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1099849634616675512004-11-07T09:44:00.000-08:002004-11-07T09:47:14.616-08:00

I change in and out of you like clothes we live the same life concurrently, mine is amber and yours maroon, cold as velvet but you don’t understand that you are my jazz, my dark chocolate and black coffee, my bus pulling up to the curb exactly on time _________ by the way, everyone, please check out my new web column at www.nycgirl.com (not to be confused with www.nycgirls.com, which is an

Lilit Marcusnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1099777482952332942004-11-06T13:43:00.000-08:002004-11-06T15:16:56.603-08:00

Pan de Muerto For Cesar Vallejo Grease a cookie sheet Mix vigorously, then divide Mold the skull and crossbones to your delight Serve warm Eat sugared skulls with anise and milk. El Dia de Todos Los Muertos Four years of Tuesdays Eating the sugared skull Formed at home. Angelitos, souls of the children who have died Viejas, souls of the old who have died Bombs dropped like cascarones Break

Jesnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1099507360763036342004-11-03T10:40:00.000-08:002004-11-03T16:15:52.160-08:00

Thinking about you and your red state. So much blood between your coast and mine. The blood of so many soldiers so many civilians and still How uneducated can a country be? Not that I was a fan of Kerry but anything would have been better. This wasn't meant to be a poem (thank g-d) just scattered thoughts and you so far away in the loveliest shade of blue.

Sivannoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1098764053641315822004-10-25T21:12:00.000-07:002004-11-05T18:05:16.233-08:00

Alternate titles: Don't bite more than you can chew Spits or Swallows Rinse optional OLD SALT At 21, I took Sheep Production 101, an animal science prerequisite that taught me, among other things, that a dressed lamb was really a slaughtered lamb hanging on a hook. I learned how to diagram cuts of meat, how to sheer, how to butcher, and how to castrate sheep in three ways. I read about ram

Jesnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1098578847087602232004-10-23T17:45:00.000-07:002004-10-23T17:47:27.086-07:00

My father’s father Trained his hands with sticks spread across thumb to pinky To navigate a chord by six. Sticks and blood, sticks and blood. He played through the Depression, Through rotten fruit bereft of bruises Free from the backs of supermarkets, Played through train jumping and seeing his brother Lose his legs. Raymundo- God of the world on wheels Sticks and blood, sticks and blood.

Jesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1098578445297711792004-10-23T17:39:00.000-07:002004-10-23T17:40:45.296-07:00

What’s all the shouting about? What’s your hurry? I have not been bit by a scorpion. I am deaf! I think there will be sleep again at Christmas. We will have a nice Christmas, Goya. I am not bit by a scorpion, I am deaf! Saturn has an erection while eating his children! We will have a nice snow at Christmas, Goya. Executions have left the liberal hydra dead. Saturn has an erection while eating

Jesnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1098573505172245042004-10-23T16:15:00.000-07:002004-10-23T16:18:25.173-07:00

Thanks For the Letter (as it looks back upon itself) Aa is for liar listless stirs to not living on his lens is so mossy just buttons mining quake in new wound lunar; stroll out or monsoon in roll equations third skill or more than nothing to remain retreat into soil, mix tinctures shout lost numbers torrid worried not run, hire song to isle, nail something. Bb is for barker nail

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1097709749453385782004-10-13T16:19:00.000-07:002004-10-13T16:22:29.453-07:00

Charlotte gave birth to a beautiful girl yesterday, October 12th, at 3:35 pm Spanish time (around 8:35 am central standard). They are sitting around in bliss, just enjoying these next few days together with each other and Mom Freeman. Naomi weighs 3.150 kilos (around 6 pounds 9 ounces) and has curly locks of black hair. Great JOB Mazeltov

Jesnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1097624852926853542004-10-12T16:41:00.000-07:002004-10-12T16:47:32.926-07:00

I just shared this with Lilit, but I thought the rest of you might appreciate this as well. On that note, and to get side-tracked before I begin, is there anyone out there other than Chandler, Jesse, Lilit, and occasionally myself? Do any of our fellow Madrid writers even read this? Oh well, those who read this blog are cooler anyway. : ) OK, so, I had a dream the other night that Peter Gizzi was

Sivannoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1097450808919315942004-10-10T16:25:00.000-07:002004-10-10T16:26:48.920-07:00

The beginning spun all through the called curtain and produced no memory, no photograph except for the fragments that drop a mist onto the motions of the day and scroll past, eating the dinner of eternity. This waiting, why will it not introduce a single sign, a flash to introduce the coming of a tear in this curtain which has suffered, hiding an eternity. Instead these symbols, or a photograph

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1097364463808297932004-10-09T15:48:00.000-07:002004-10-09T16:29:05.990-07:00

there is no ring tighter, this is not an attempt to explain, these symbols are everywhere repeating is the function unlike this morning or even now but there is no pattern more bound to itself it speaks of continuous not a smile or lovingly unlike children screaming it beckons and even here it seems silent, a light only itself but if the ear is pressed tightly now against the

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1097361898390590012004-10-09T15:35:00.000-07:002004-10-09T15:44:58.390-07:00

First I am going to die inside the tavern inside the chest but tightness is not an emotion anymore (but it can be a state) Then I am going to sleep not because of death but in avoidance of now (not tomorrow) and of course the fingernails grow even then Next it is time for washing the skin slinks like a corner in this unplanned city where only soap did not begin in endings (where did these ashes

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1096847872533158812004-10-03T16:53:00.000-07:002004-10-03T16:59:56.836-07:00

If you were here, I'd build a sukkah. My home is waterless, but I am a peninsula. We will build a hut from our hair. My home is waterless, but if you were here, I'd be sleeping. We will build a hut from our hair and call it God. If you were here, I'd be sleeping outside, the sky constellationless, and call it God, jutting out yet still attached. Outside. The sky constellationless. I am a

Lilit Marcusnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1095968308629228422004-09-23T13:34:00.000-07:002004-10-02T21:05:24.320-07:00

I want to crawl back into my daughter’s bed Past stars, dark, and ephemeral light, Back into the moments with the Stinky Cheese Man And laugh at the words, the pictures. There with her witch-broom hair tickling my face on the pillow The warmth of her against me, her little stuffed dog. I want to be cramped into the space of her kicking Feel her foot stretched into my ribs, where we are safe. My

Jesnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1095469095172351182004-09-17T17:54:00.000-07:002004-09-18T23:10:08.480-07:00

(for Tom) I went to the ATM machine to deposit my check, stuck the card in and punched numbers, licked the envelope, then I almost collapsed. Everything swirled. I held on to consciousness and the wall long enough to hit cancel and pocket my card. I could think clearly enough to recall that the last thing

Jesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1095035436532391212004-09-12T17:14:00.000-07:002004-09-12T17:30:36.533-07:00

I've been studying all day, and will be studying again the moment I finish this. Hence the fact that I am dicking around at the Blog... My point... I'll have to come up with one if I'm going to make this procrastinating thing work... Democracy. I pissed this guy off in one of my classes on Friday. I told him I had written a paper on Bush's speech at the Republican National Convention. I had

Sivannoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1094918849426187552004-09-11T09:00:00.000-07:002004-09-11T09:07:29.426-07:00

Depending how you were raised and how much money your family had, the proper pronunciation of the city’s name is either "Greensburr," with a clipped, harsh end, or "Greensburrah," with a genteel fade. The genderless Greensboro that I enunciated is a compromise between the two cities, between Lee Street and Fisher Park, bars on windows and boats in the driveway. It is the immigrant’s Greensboro,

Lilit Marcusnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1094866893691748862004-09-10T18:36:00.000-07:002004-09-12T11:13:11.283-07:00

I've received several emails about people wanting to put stuff up and not knowing how. I really don't know how to help you. If you are a named user, (not of drugs) you likely have a password. If you go the http://completefiction4us.blogspot.com/ or the www.blogger.com site, you can probably enter your name and password, then you get the dashboard. At the dashboard you can click on edit or

Jesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1094178396946381042004-09-02T19:18:00.000-07:002004-09-02T19:26:36.946-07:00

Because I haven't logged onto the blog in forever... Did anyone notice that Rae is in fact among us? Yet she, much like Madonna, has decided to go by her Jewish name - Lilit. So, while some of you may be wondering who the stranger is among us, it is in fact our beloved Rae. Fortunately, unlike Madonna, Rae is actually Jewish, and, as of yet, I have not seen her wearing a $26 red string bracelet

Sivannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1093656620185094242004-08-27T18:28:00.000-07:002004-08-27T18:34:19.563-07:00

A certain poetry class is studying forms. What's your favorite form? How does it work? Pantoum http://www.baymoon.com/~ariadne/form/pantoum.htm Four lines in first quatrain. Second and Fourth line become first and third line of the next quatrain, and again for as many quatrains as you want. The last quatrain should repeat the first and third lines as second and fourth. Lines vary slightly, and

Jesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7907071.post-1093534427896933042004-08-26T08:19:00.000-07:002004-08-26T08:33:47.896-07:00

Consider the Shadow the Sculpture Casts For Charlotte If it is not a gathering of words it is a color always near you transmitting thoughts the moments no longer emptying into because of shared blue of course sky water jeans on the floor but also (my) eyes change towards pure in mornings of bed shifting doubling memory by suspending the between the intruder transforms to the expected to

BloggerRMnoreply@blogger.com1