Monthly Archives: February 2009

Gone as it gets

Give me that which hurts the most
That splendid thing you can’t ignore
I’ll chisel your imperfections upon
The perfect rock & skip you across
The stream & watch you sink in
Circles concentric spreading your
Panic diminishing as an echo what
Say you to sharp edges cutting
Paper thin incisions that no one
Feels but you that no one sees
& no one understands fainter &
Fainter your
          hair floats like sea
weed
          sprouting diamonds

KE

Reality Check

I am looking for self shaped
whole to fall into,
somewhere
on a deserted beach
with all the amenities

I’ve spent too much time
not deciding,
it’s not a comfortable seat
this fence,
but it’s familiar.

What I need is
not what I want,
I hope lyrics don’t come true,
I close my eyes, cross my fingers
and pray:
I don’t get what I deserve, either.

Kimberley Diamond Bones

IF I COULD BED BLUE DIRT

If I could bed blue dirt
I’d be home free!

This and other reassuringances
like a common ground denominator
under staircase of the elevator

Better be no me than falsely know as mine
the chaff that’s dredged from skin of inward eye

(An insect for a windshield wiper
and the rubber misses claim of continent)

As if from mother’s compass tits
I could trace sum systems of equation &
of conflation with an
X Y Z

As if “I”
could say This
is the Stuff
that’s Me

Ridiculous

The map is not the territory

Thing — defining — thoughts
bat my at-bat
bet her
to
let her
be

Free!

Without oughts to dot her neutral now
for fear of furtive futures
or should of shades in shame . . .

(Remembering your earnest yous
how for fresh interest
I’d wipe my mind & watch the movie
first time round — this thought
belongs here too –)

To rest in zest of be
rather’n grasp
the thins of definition

O, let nonsense wrest free!
As if to slash my shits
& slip my me

Kathy “Lady” Smith

The literary cafe night

It’s not what I want
But the beer is cold
Slow . . . a time warp

Floated into hugs hand shakes
Drinks stand words thicken
The air slows down

How fast ice rolls around
A glass, clanging & diluting
The best thoughts until a nod

Is as meaningful as the last sip.

Steve Thomas

kitten learning cat

kitten learning cat
the thrill of the hunt and catch
followed by torture

klf

trading secrets

I saw down a canyon
glimpsed the depth of you
free falling your way
through disaster a halo of hindsight
one long never ending sentence
prayer rifts and heresies
opening to catch the winds

your voice
lands soft on berber carpet
rocking calm on rubber soles
metal notes blend and bend
an apologetic prophecy
between sips of
eternity from an aluminum can

leaping over sidewalk cracks
and word puddles
a close range shot zings by
overhead your trigger finger moves
underneath a quiet pause
your eyes focus
slide so easy from the page

later driving home
listening to my messages
a piece of your soul
somewhere in the backseat
between cardboard covers —

one five dollar bill
gone forever

kimmy diamond bones

forgotten rose

I am a beautiful woman who farts.

I am the cow-skinned kettle
who is not allowed to scream

I am the flesh log
where you sharpen your love

I pretend I am the dark
my dreams all deboned
& frolicking in mildew & filth

I am a ragtag concerto of misplaced grimaces

I am the stomp & coo of your wretched imagination

I am the iceberg heart melting bloody piss
all over your fancy leather shoes

I am an emotional terrorist
(ready for war)

I am the shredded maple
wilting in an uncertain blast of memory

Stroke my brain cells
Make me buzz

I am the one who never forgets
to argue with my dead mother

I am squalling orange curses for effect

I am the hole you are digging
for the future

Pretend that you know me
berserk in my dildo pumping brain
Crack me open with your crawling insult

I am the burp of summer inside the ice cube of your frown

I am death valley pressed
between wax paper
a forgotten rose

I am the buzzard who assaults the wrinkling tree lawn

I am the endless drip hookah pipe relax
& get to know me

I am the high velocity whirr
of scythe blades
on a tiny patch of urban grass —
Listen for the enemy

I am Saturday morning pressed
between pillows, delicious
golden apple
refusing reentry

There are stacks of fresh salted yawns in the tv chair
Please —
Make yourself comfortable

I am the one note of saxophone
sanctifying the dark

It doesn’t matter how many rattlesnake promises
I tuck into sleep —
I am still the valley that ends in a ditch

wendy shaffer