Volodymyr Bilyk

***

***

Marthe Reed

Body 16

***

***

rob mclennan

King Kong Goes to Stratford

           for William Hawkins

Forget the appeal of Basque temples, foreign women,
the disappointments of Rotterdam, or the score

of Saudi-Arabian tributes; plenaries revealed during
a Carp Fair lost weekend. Success breeds imitation,

and imitation, breeds; copies overwhelm the tabloids, distract
the purity of beasts. Come witness the original! King Kong,

Lord of Stratford. Daily matinee as Lear,

he begins to comprehend his offspring,
and how best to love them.

These numbered categories of age and wisdom, vanity.
They ask: what news of home, good sir?

Your faith will bring you nowhere.

***
***

Caleb Puckett

Reaching for the Cleaver

—It’s poetry, my son.
—What for?
—Add the word ward and then say: I would like to be a bear, gay and happy free from care,
guarding this space with my definition/ That's the life like no other, climbing trees with my
mother, dividing these patients with my definition/ Though they call me beast of rage, I've never
put things in a cage, overseeing those minors with my definition/ Or set a trap since time's
begun, or shot a human with a gun, turning the lock with my definition.
—But Mr. Cleaver…
—Well, do you recognize this episode? How about it, Eddie?
—After what?
—Add the word ward and then say: The trust company gave me the business this May.
—Does June know?
—Hush now. I’m reaching for the word cleaver, my son. We must break your lines.
—No, Ward!

***
***

Richard Kostelanetz

2 fr. Ouroboros

typography/design: Denzel R. Russell

***

***

Vernon Frazer

Shelling Night Secrets

calamari tepee wreckage

a vernacular intent beguiled

latitudes host ventricular paté 

no tentacle left unserved

to enervate the matador legends

willing their dated entries

to volley fortitude crossings 

*

at the gate left to rummage

the flicker scales its blue intent

navicular findings retribe

narwhal hostage enclosures

scrotal sasquatch enigma watchers

bear a worn umbrella’s broken heat

tossing latitude a grim spectacular

*

the carapace ode nocturne

semaphores the eagled prowess

yearning to return last nodules

to portage prince doctrine

where the shore drilled off

the seminal scent of tapping code

***

Giving Them What They Want

tablet referenda deferred

supple intonation marks pitched bales

against fetid deletion materials

wandered lonely and aloud

implacable driftwood seeking varnish

release anonymous bottle wrappers

papered under slow debris 

moving remnant polish 

amateur night to tabla markers 

reflecting current strapping

further whiplash 

leather braiding soon resumed

a rhythm agenda hidden 

whether or not the plate assumed

blood leisure noon repeated

the preferred rabble agenda crowding

mileage threaders to chart

lumbago headline barkers vend

articles of rumination illustrated

***

***

Ann Neuser Lederer

Lizards of Warning 

Each verdant remnant 

more spotlit 

more haloed

as necrotization sets in 

the lesson of [the] candles

darkness' set point 

One day in silent January

the light already turning

still silver though, 

silent shimmer     a lone room, 

not even a chair

windows to the floor

not even a curtain

-- no blind

a prophet appeared to appear 

in an orange glow of course

a fiery chariot, speaking in tongues

speaking nothing

speaking nonsense

It was a day of waiting for something

[the] clouds had gathered ominous

in the wrong part of the sky

I in the corner practicing invisibility

before I knew it was a possibility

reading -- deciphering  the honored text

What happened next

[the] thunder 

then, years passed 

[the] seasons turned over and over 

[the] edge of the cliff was clothed 

in soft moss

not sharp   not unwelcome

[the] lizards of warning were sleeping

Far out on the pond a ripple

a sliver    a lace in the shape of a snake

it was the ducks   the geese

quiet and dozing

one bright spot of white in all that dim

turned      seemed to get ready 

to fly

but settled

It was the tame lone swan

who took no notice of its difference

accepted by the other fowl   or 

none commenting    all waiting 

for what 

[the] weather to move again

[the] night to descend

[the] crows to put the sun to rise 

or set --

Elijah to utter 

a word of wisdom.

***

***

Marthe Reed

Body 4

***

***

John M. Bennett

Espejo del Cominiqué

“mi carta se duerme” di
jo der metiste la tos sur
la table )mesa mez tiza
que en la lluvia se es
fuma ;~;;;~;;~ ~;~ ( ;~ la
lata de creamed corn
)fíjate ,NUNCA LA
NOMBRA l l l l l
(ni esencia ,resabida ,“una
vagüedad” infrafrenética
,risa en la milpa cru
jiente de remolques
.mis papalabras re
mojadas mi recipiente
reflejo es y ronca y
RONCA “algo se muere
en la sierra”

Hasta la victoria, siempre.
- Fidel Castro

***
***

Stephen Ellis

Enough

The lotus unfurls
and reveals skeletal
trees across

dim meadows
where things are
born, grow

and conspire together
to die, each
in accordance with

their place in
an overall design
that cannot be

seen. It is
January, the birds
are thin, and full

desire for spring
gnaws at the roots
of still-living

plants whose absence
speaks for us
when we cannot be

silent, but remain
in the dominion of
our bodies, open

to the residual
sense of dying
and being born

again from the cold
where we remain
least aware of

our closeness
in mercy to
the menace

with which we
lick light from
early morning

ice with the majesty
of our small
dark tongues.

***
***

Sheila E. Murphy

Not on your Life

 

Come hither to behold

these marigolds retrieved

from unearthed metallic

complication, shadowing

folds and making flecks.

 

Maybe the drive to yield

informs the same drawn

lines across one forehead

to accommodate the tones

that grace the intimation of a face.

 

Why not unlace the boundaries

between desire and feast?

You may not recognize the least sum

of chocolate squares formed for

liberation packaged as a teaser

that you may deign to buy forever,

 

for admirers who have vowed

to keep you au courant,

and young to pieces next to people

resemblive of your sun place

who will cover you at night

and watch the gate be empty

of intrusion by unoccupied new forces.

***

***

Marthe Reed

Body 3

***

***

Bob BrueckL

Affichages Sauvages

Inured in the crucible of undiluted

humiliation, scavenging for a spasm flare in

the porphyry of a dead prophylactic, O

immaculate ejaculate

Glacially slow eye ache, haptic, scorch &

scour, mimick the seared silhouettes of

inebriated vowels lavishing duplicity on the

faint of heart

Gummier slugs, succinctly dismembered

shafts of sunlight, gradations of April's light,

your drooping stench, the sheen of your

resonance

Copper leaf quiver paring down the minuscule

crotch riffing off the incongruity of longevity --

gulp plug, figinal aftershock, pinch me --

***

***

Luc Fierens

***

***

John M. Bennett

Wet Mirror

fogo fome fonte fisted

bowl water ,walls ,dri

pping ,yr jaw jut aim ,th

e whizzzing sleeevesss

)layered on the gate my

,watch swirling ,I was

,chewing a splinter spoon

a ,rungs burning on my

chäiïr  )smoky lens be

fore my mouth’s  )wet

green stone  )the cave’s

fog spewed....  )sw

itch yr neck off  )dr

ink ,nothing’s left(((((((((        l

...boquitas pintadas.

- Cuco Sánchez

***

***