Post on 23-Nov-2015
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Steve Orthwhere
Steve Ortheagles
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Steve OrthTHIS ISSUE WAS CO-EDITED WITH LINDSEY BOLDT. THAT'S WHY IT'S SOOOO GOOD. BUT ALSO HAVING 2 EDITORS MEANS THAT THERE'S TWICE AS MUCH CONTENT. SO IT'S A DOUBLE ISSUE. AND SINCE WE MADE SUCH A BIG ISSUE WE DECIDED THAT WE'RE GOOD FOR A LITTLE TIME OFF. SO LINDSEY & I ARE GOING ON SUMMER VACATION. THERE WON'T BE ANOTHER ISSUE OF WHERE EAGLES DARE UNTIL AUTUMN.
JEN MANZANO MADE THE COVER. THANK YOU JEN.
I AM SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS ISSUE FULL OF GREAT POETS & WRITERS. I FEEL BLESSED TO HAVE THEIR HEARTS & MINDS IN THIS MAGAZINE.
XO,STEVE
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Steve Orth TABLE OF CONTENTS
d'dra whitevalerie wittealan bernheimer demaurie lavienejason morrisgarrett caplesanne lesley selcerla'naya barksdaleron palmersue landerszack haberkaty bohincmichael nicoloffsteve dickisonanahita jamali raddaniel owen ce putnamdonato mancinimat laported. scott milleranne boyer
Steve Orth
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Steve OrthMade in Oakland CA, May 2014
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My new lover loves my child bearing hips Gives him something to hold onto While we slow dancing cheek to cheek He don't know This body isn't always comfortable He calls me chocolate like it's my name Like only sweet things come in this shade of brown Like this skin hasn't ever been painful He gives me affirming words for nickname Renames my unhealthy sexy He likes to show me off Parade me in front of friends Co workers and the like He whispers in my ear when no one is looking He don't know I had to retrain myself to stand still Don't know I have to remind myself not to hear hisses in places void of snakes My new lover is a passionate man Kisses my lips until they mimic aftershocks Inches hands over landscape like my skin is Braille He don't know my person hasn't always been treated with this much care Hasn't always been handled this gently My new lover likes to call me his woman He don't know I've been owned before Wore daughter until it felt more possessive than familial How childbearing hips can be more curse than blessing He don't know I'm still learning to love this vessel All chocolate and choice Still learning all the ways rough can heal All my new lover knows is I got these childbearing hips He holds on to them while we dance cheek to cheek He don't know all things I've done to keep the music playing
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! ! ! !!!!
63!
when we match faces with insects five are black on white paper. or foreign material within the lens lining
the curvature of a body, bristles and hair hung. lossless the way we maintain consistency. (I think about your hair maybe once a week.) soft and blond when first formed in most adults results in a hardening and darkening inability to distinguish between his wifes voice, the radio, and a refusal to consider the possibility that his hearing might fail.
Steve Orthvalerie witte
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! ! ! !!!!
64!
in the basement spaces an extensive body of object relations. take
surfaces blanketed by felt arranged in frames hung like diamonds. soldiers for painting, closets of cards and silk remnants from cigarette packs. a system of pegs on which to hold ones bats and gloves to walls, autographed balls alongside voices and chimes, animal sounds & decanters positioned on a shelf. records spilling to the floor, into the laundry a sort of organization. at a nickel a book cataloguing enough to keep a child busy for years. a measure of love. as if everything need be measured. there are ten original jackets. two are black and red protecting original selections knowing each can be located, rotated, played & appraised, no matter how trivial.
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! ! ! !!!!
66!
(and please please tell me you are making phrases out of sewer structures, fire hydrants, a pattern
of energy lines. the survival tricks played on travelers.) we got our eyes yesterday and 60 percent of hauntings are pink a turbulent blur. she understands the temptation to sneak to peek the foolish fire faint. surrender to the love terrorist, the primary repository of affection. what went loose in a psychological rebellion. (two selves talking to me, its OK to just stop talking to me.) your willingness to admit this is telling. in what manner of distraction he fled finding delays in the film gaps where something possible might have happened. (the more I love you the harder it is to go off-world off
men or remembrance and fingers are the way to press or please tell me your world is corroborated by strangers.) dont give up on us blue flames
are crossbreeds of toy makers and
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! ! ! !!!!
67!
primitive men. and godlike superhumans. the mirrored you split or instructions for building a device one-half our own image
and the camera duplicates it. the disappearance of travelers into mires, a woman in the next room singing or the radio, chatter through a hall a noise matrix of voices range in color from white to yellow to pale blue the outcome of tossed dice on a wooden platform with three protruding
legs is suspect. (why you so rarely play.) as a technician on the seven fairy tracks he recorded such moments with Polaroids.
(most of my lovers remained imperceptible; I was myself not long ago fleeting as kit-in-the-candlesticks.) a little board is a spirit forest wavering. (though youd never made me cry). sometimes
the things you arent looking for are the most unbearable things.
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Alan Bernheimer
I WAS A TEENAGE HYPNOTIST
For Suzanne Stein I always loved sending away for things by mail. Forty years before the Internet and Amazon made armchair shopping commonplace, you could easily obtain a small monkey, a teacup Chihuahua, or a ventriloquists swazzle through the mail-order ads in comic books. Army surplus Jeeps, needing some assembly but costing under $100, could be had in the classifieds at the back of Popular Mechanics. But for category breadth and kitsch, nothing compared with the Dorothy Damar catalogue, each page featuring eight or nine selections ranging from household gadgets like a serrated grapefruit spoon (set of four, $1.49) to novelties like an ant farm ($2.98) or a drawkcab llaw kcolctells time backwards (8.98). My taste ran to novelties and I did buy the farmthe little farmers shipped separately. I bought but never mastered the swazzle, a half circle of leather, metal, and plastic the diameter of a quartermarketed as the secret to throwing your voice, but really just a device to produce whistling noises and ducky speech. In a related ambition as conjurer, I made the transition from operator of store-bought practical jokes (the dribble glass, the bottomless spoon), gaffs, gimmicks and prepared decks to some grace and fluidity in sleight of hand with cards and coins, educating finger muscles with hours of practice in front of a full length mirror until the moves became invisible to me. But my shortcoming as a performer was the magicians patterthe weave of personality, narrative, momentum, and misdirection that cloaks sleight in illusion and elevates artifice to arta surprising deficiency in light of the success I was having with high-school dramatics, especially in comedic roles. But in magic I had no ready access to a good script or director. Surprising, too, since my line of patter as a hypnotist was good enough to put half a dozen subjects under. And patter, along with confidence, is all there is in the hypnotists bag of tricks. As a young man, my father had hypnotized a few summer campers when he was counselor, and so I had close-hand evidence that it could be done, as well as a tendency to follow in his footsteps. I mailed away for and received the Hypnosis Handbook from the National Crystal Company in Millburn, N.J., whose order form for additional publications on judo, tattooed women, helpful hints for horseplayers, handwriting analysis, yogism, and chastity girdles accompanied the 16-page pamphlet. Peter R., my New York City apartment building upstairs neighbor and boyhood friend, was my first subject. This would be freshman year, high school. One evening, I sat him down in a reclining aqua blue Danish modern armchair with a matching footstool whose top tilted up to complete a comfortable lazy S. A reading lamp on a scissor mount behind his head shone on the pencil tip eraser that I held about a foot from his face, a little above the eye line. The rest of the room was in shadow, including me. I started the standard patter about concentration, relaxation, and drowsiness and soon his eyelids began to flutter. He went under during the sleep count, and the cataleptic arm test (unable to bend at elbow)
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proved he was an apt subject. After deepening the trance, I tried a variety of exercises, including numbness to pain, clairvoyant hallucinatory travel to different locales, and harmless post-hypnotic suggestions such as speaking an absurd sentence (Alan is a zebra) whenever I put my hand on his head. Everything went by the book, and I was careful to ensure that my subject wakened at the end feeling as refreshed as if hed had a nice nap. He remembered nothing from the session, which is not unusual, although I had not suggested amnesia. Peters younger brother was similarly suggestible, and I can recall him sitting atop the Empire State Building, holding a telescope and swiveling around to see the city sightsat least in his mind. David S. a smart-alecky red-haired Canadian schoolmate, was another susceptible subject. But despite my success with peers, I ran into a psychological wall when I attempted to hypnotize an adult. In retrospect, Id made a poor choice in an opinionated, impatient, skeptical scientist friend of my parents who took time out from their dinner party to try my new skills. Once Id gotten his eyes shut, not even the relaxation techniqueguiding his attention to his extremities and moving the relaxation point gradually up the limbs to the body core and finally the mindwas able to produce or deepen a trance. Clearly I should have picked a less strong-willed and stubborn subject for my first experiment on an adult, since success breeds confidence in the operator. This setback and two other factors contributed to my abandoning a budding career as mesmerist. Although each successful trance induction produced a small thrill of conquest, I was becoming bored by the available effects and activities to pursue with the hypnotized subjects. Although I was reading about hypnotherapy, I was clearly too callow to attempt anything in that line, and I knew that simply removing symptoms of neuroses through hypnotic suggestion without getting at underlying causes was believed to result in new and perhaps more problematic expressions of the unresolved issues. This being the early 60s, smoking cessation was not yet on anyones mind. Frankly, I was getting creeped out by the sense of exerting power over others, even though I took it on faith that subjects cannot be induced to do anything harmful or morally objectionable. But they were still doing whatever I told them to do, instructions they would not have followed without hypnosis. I decided this ability to mold anothers will through arcane technique was not a side of my personality that I wanted to encourage. Four or five years later I did try my skill one more time on J., a Eurasian student from Wellesley visiting me at Yale for the weekend, a friend of friends. There was no spark of romance, despite our adolescent hormones and the late 60s climateeven a friendly back rub led to nothing more. J. was interested in quitting cigarettes and, sitting in a red butterfly chair one fall evening in my wainscoted Saybrook College room outfitted with fireplace, leaded glass casement windows, and enormous double bedstead with roses carved into its dark oak, she was a ready subject and successfully took the post-hypnotic suggestion that cigarettes taste like burnt rubber. And so they did, for at least a few days, since such suggestions need periodic reinforcement in order to persist. I dont know if Id make a good subject myself. I had no success at all with self-hypnosis per se, not being able to get my head around the idea of being simultaneously suggester and suggestee. But the post-
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hypnotic certainty that has remained with me is the minds ability to create its own truth, to see (or not see), independent of objective reality: These arent the droids were looking for. Eyewitness error, fabricated memories of abuse, and police lineup misidentification are just a few examples of such suggestibility. Neurologists have even found cellular substrates in the brain for manufactured memories, engrams in the dentate gyrus. If an amateur hypnotist can make you hallucinate, how much more convincing is the self-agent. I can look at the kitchen counter or refrigerator shelf and not see an item in plain sight because I strongly suspect someone has put it elsewhere. Visual or auditory illusions involve just two of the senses. Hypnosis is also a well established method of producing anesthesia. (In the days before Novocain was common for drilling, my dentist uncle tried to put me under but I just didnt trust him.) A standard test for trance is to tell the subject they wont feel pain in, say, their hand and then sharply pinch them, or even use a pin prick. Conversely, its claimed that a cool spoon applied to the skin can both produce a burning sensation and raise a blister in a subject who is told that its red hot. No wonder the placebo effect has become part of medical orthodoxy. And in several recent studies, optimists had as much as a 50 percent lower mortality rate from cancer and heart disease than pessimists. Faith healing is just a step beyond. And speaking of optimism, the National Crystal Company was almost certainly the mail order business started in the 1960s by Julian Simon, later an economist and controversial population growth optimist, as a way to employ his out-of-work parents. His father had run a two-man washing soda business under the same name in nearby Newark that folded during World War II.
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MyLifeThatYouWereBornIn!
byDemaurieLaviene
HiDemaurie,
Areyougay?orhappy?
No,Imhappy
Yes,Imgay,becausemylife
Imlookingforsomeone,butImhappybecauseImgay
Imgay,yes,butIhavearainbowflag
Imgay,butyouthinkIlikeboys
Igotfriendsthatsupportme
Imhappybecausemyfriendsandmyfamilysupportme!
Whyareyougay?
Bitchitsmyway!
Ok,Ihateyourway
butitismyway!
ImtherainbowandIhavethecolors!!
Ihavenodad
Iwasraisedbymymomfor14years
ImaboybutIcanbeagirlwhenIbeathome
Ilivewithtwobrothers,onesister,andmymom
Whydontyouhavenodad?
Mymomwasmydad
Ok!
TheshitIwanttobe
IcanbewhateverIwanttobe!
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Steve Orth
***
These big pink
flowers fallloudly
in my backyard
***
the tenant of the plain
John Clare, The Wren
Morning rushes
into view, filled
with thrushes
singing in live oak
branches, more gnarled
than one
could ever expect. Or
drawtell about
prevailing winds
clouds Constable saw
& painted in
raw shifting silvers
coke steam
seams aquifers & sneered
dominion not anapologetos
the calamity of being real
this thin thing poems
& paint
form, to
deliver doubled
a dream of a dream:
tell about
long limbs hanging
impossibly down
to soak rain & light
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out of
low parking lot air.
Tell about or draw how
gravel crunches under
tires there, sound
cloud on a podcast,
cloudless
extension cord thru CA
glittering I-80 extreme
heat advisory day. Or
hollyhock in lathy peeps
the noise is still familiar,
like
an echo I would strain
to hear
over man-made falls,
the wail
of dams, transformers, all.
The harder you listen,
the less
of it you getmesh
on which any of my
(initial or otherwise)
sense depends.
Signal: word dropped
in water
stone in well
9.V.13
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ENCAMPMENT ON OCEAN
for Jackson Meazle
Its as you suspected
Chert Breccia with Sculptor
a ways off
in thought, aside
Chaucer, the Red Statue of Mars
for a long time
I preferred
it kept
patterned
As electron to galaxy
in maze of expanding
ash
(the mind a cavalcade of
wild horses, as it spreads
across valley floor). Language
displaces nothing
kenosis
But if, as the philosopher says
Language is the house of Being
we (poets) have squatters rights
& treat the edifice as such
elegant poverty
trying barely
to make a trace
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The oracle at Delphi:
built around a ringer
the rock was the MacGuffin
Zeus mother used to trick
Kronos
a stand-in for the real thing
The really important thought I keep
Not thinking, as though by accident
Pushing it off
to the side
contrapuntal
almost to the point of
abstraction
right when I finish the poem
the bus pulls up
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GARRETT CAPLES RIDES AGAIN
my concealed carry personality has deformed my trouser content
to the extent my permit permits im shooting off often in public im a blow dart in a wind tunnel aimed in the wrong direction
a boycotted russian vodka distiller an assdial away from arrest im that bad molly going around
on the business end of fucking up thats me in the glass inner office telling beads on the heads of my foes
is it genderqueer to be a femme & such an aggressive asshole same bat time, same bat channel but the cosplays a satin hassle
youd think my years in a boyband would inure me to humiliation but this bratwurst from the king
is the only thing keeping me was i going to say alive? was i going to stay in & get things done
or stand in line for a cronut at my age in this tax bracket they said bananas could get you high they said lyric poems had to die
they said lickon tattoos were lsd & toiletseats could give you stds the reek of the schoolyard cistern
haunts todays items of piety
Steve Orthgarrett caples
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just as readily but to me the poetry only grows under such conditions
as to hold the candle up to the album to illuminate the grooves. every time the bucks go clattering i go numbering
their hooves in this inexplicable ritual of anthropologizing up over this 200 year old carpet of cigarettes
im ready for my autotune, dr. luke im ready to head to toluca lake to watch the ghosts of flappers float over the lawn of the hope estate
while its still for sale. where once i was cuckoo for cocopuffs im afraid ive gone apeshit
for grapenuts today. ive only got so many colons to lasso your heart away
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Steve Orth
PAUL BOWLES IN EL CERRITO
the marimbas and the marijuana were the only good things in the town. the men were violent and dirty. the women were made of stone. a tortilla might run up and smack your face. the doilies were straight unforgivable. there was a cactus the size of the grand cooley
dam and a pencil the size of a lizard. a burro made of churros and a pinata stuffed with opinions. compared to my life as a mountain dweller, even the bums were city slickers. the wind always blew hard and cold. the marijuana and arhoolie records were the only good things in the town. there were ill-mannered goats as big as great danes, while the great danes themselves were like runty chihuahuas. the university presses were nothing to
speak of and the abandoned monasteries less than picturesque. the palm trees were clenched like fists. the guitars were out of tune and the pianos had 86 keys. it was illegal for men to breastfeed in public. the ample parking and the marijuana were the only good things in the town. the flowers gave off the most foul odor. the sex offenders barely registered. there were no gas stations and it was a pain in the ass to go to the dentist. the
internet was a broken wheel propped against a well, the telephone a buzzard on a shed. there were neon signs like giant banana leaves and stick bugs like you wouldnt believe. the gorge that lay below the town yawned and belched a puff of smoke, because the marijauna and the barbeque were the only good things in the town.
for Andrew and Rose
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HOMAGE TO ROD ROLAND
ah man, an inch of snow in cario & peter otoole dies same day as joan fontaine. petes death
hurts the rest of us who were nt affected by, say, paul walker s child molestation explosion but still gotta live with it in the cosmic sense. i cried when john
ny thunders died & laughed a bout kurt cobain though maybe thats just me. my-my-my gener ation didnt include me for reasons not opaque to me. i wasnt what
mtv said to be & it was a comp elling narrative back then. i listen to the filler on an iron butterfly album & think whyd they bother when they just coulda? i hear ele
phants are telepathic & why shouldnt they be? they got big ears
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1
Riddem
All the beautiful boys
Have secrets that ties their mouths,
Educations that wind like staircases,
Dressed in pinions, bright as children
In the prison of the collapsed present,
Their speech goes from the mouth as a ribbon,
Stretches out like poverty stretches out in languor,
Records and retells sensory fact that models untellingness,
In collaged rhythmic sequences that
Unfold like the poem, but affect change.
In the glittering building, in the self's apartment,
Blossoming in the bright actual library of tears,
They chant: "In the place of absence,
Multiplicity, in the place of of givenness,
Repleteness, in the place of languor, rising,
In the place of rhythm, ribbon."
They laugh outside the library,
Read out loud to one another on the pavement.
Actual tears drench the ground. Vast lucid texts
Are unclenched, "It is morning, speech has blossomed,
You are awakening. A lovely light is singing out loud.
In the movement, in my eyes, in the line, Silvia
Federici is alive."
Steve Orthanne lesley selcer
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2
My mother was a secret house,
a new round of enclosures.
Adriatic, Galia, Algerian, Atago.
Magic seemed a refusal of work.
Bella Heart, Betty Anne, Bergamont, Black,
Black Amber, Black Beauty, Black Globe, Black Pearl.
The world had to be disenchanted,
Angel, Aprium, Arkansas Black,
Athena, Baldwin, Apricot,
sexual activity transformed into work,
Black Current, Black Rochelle, Baby Bear,
Catalina, Cherimoya, Crimson Red,
Crab Apple, Clemintina, Crimson Glow,
complicity and repulsion, negation then exorcism,
medicine reformulated into perfume.
Red Delicious, Dancy, DAnjou Red,
Ellendale, Crimson, Crimson Sweet.
In this large and most beautiful house,
Elephant Heart, Barhi, Black Raspberry,
Black Sugarcane, Canaydria, Canary.
Bartlett, Babcock, Blackberry,
Calimyrna, Cello Blood.
Ariran, Athena, Amagaki,
my mother was a feral house.
Ambrosia, Apple Pear.
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3
The eye must be sunlight
Ice caked, falling water, compression, clarity
if colors are the deeds and sins of light, this is light caught sleeping
green abases to gold, red deepens to rouge
a hillside becomes painterly, its grass turns ochre, expires into solidity
a postcard series: the sky painted blue, the grass green
the work is a machinery of distance and contact
conceptually based sequences, shot North, West, Northwest, Southeast
cold and colorful, red deepens to rouge, gold abases to green
the mirror is the brightest color, the mirror strikes light.
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4
What proliferates in absence, distance
and is behind every word,
what sounded like lions
but were rips, splices,
the invisible straining toward convexity,
how heaven and death are concurrent
and beauty is a way to appear.
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Steve Orthla'naya barksdale
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excerptfrom:PerSon
cuteforthevirus
variabilitycleaved
attachment:detachment
lifecycleisthesame
foreverystrainandevenfaith
ishostileinthewronghands
undetectablesoul
purpleveinedjellyfish
Clingingbetweenthelungs
Likeaportalwindow
showinghimsliceacow
inlovelythinslices
carpacciowiththefur
stillblackfuzzaroundthemeaty
edgesbodiless
miraculouslybloodless
fellfoldedcartoonlike
theslicesofcowcrumpled
uponthemselves
I'maliveagainbecauseofyou
amIaneurotransmitter,noI'myour
fuckingghostIwonyou
youownme
Stupidamphetaminepulsing
synapticI'minsideyoubetterthanmemory:Heyhoneywhatwar
wereyouin?
StroboscopicRuin(skunkclit)flick
drowningintongueIamyours
Steve Orthron palmer
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Shallowbodyanger
"BeforeIwaswasps
Iwaspassingforaman
throughadoorway"
"webothhadalong
shinyknifedrowninginthatdooryardbloomingIamaseverer
ofselfnosongleftsorrysexyWhitmanIam
murderIngmyWarmerBruder
WarmerBrother
WarmerBrooder
Withmycock.
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liquidentry
bothmenunshaven
thesameheight
theknivesidentical
ThemomentIrealize
itisamirror
doorwaymoment
readytoplungeintoeachother
bothbladespoised
Vibratinginfists
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StipplingIcarryherdownthestairs
herlittlebodyshiveringinyourarms
I'velearnedhershiverandstarewhenshesmellsdanger
franticscratchingonfenceaprimalcrythentworaccoonsbacklitby
neighbor'ssecondfloorbluewindowflickeringcinematizethedouble
creaturerunninghunched&balancedbytinyfurryhandson
fence
Huntingastraywecalljawjawkitty
becausewhenwetapgentlyourwindowshelooksupfromlicking
herblackpawandvibratesherjawlikeajitteringrobot
atuskneeling&laughingonourcouchintheCaliforniasunlight
Ihearwailingbehindthefence,Iknowjawjawkittyispined
bytheraccoonsandbloodyfootprintsoncementinthemorning
telltheend
withmycousininaclownsuit&thethirdloverridinganother
steppingonsomebodies
oxidetoesandabloodynose
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Iftherewereagenderlesschild
Onthecoastofgenre:
Iwouldbeacowboy
novelsnarlingintothestellar
nurserybitingforeskinstretchwhere
IgrewuponVirginiaWoolf's
mapsforimaginaryspaces:
Takingovermoon'stideswe
exhibitsatellitedunes
Codedintoourgenes
Ijumpcuttomyfutureself
Speedingdown101:
ODoubleSoul
Iaskyou"wherewillyouflyIfIdie
HerepiningformyWombatpiningforHistrionicspiningforthefang
ofnostalgia
Onthewaytotheauthenticself
there'sboundtobe
somefraudulencesaying
fakeittillyoufuckit
fakingmysoulinthemirrorfingerfuckingmyselfinthemirror
whileI'm
mollifyingtheGhostbots.
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SueLanders,susanlanders@yahoo.com
iMPeRFeCT
ApoemaboutRennyandplasticbarrettes.
Thebarretteshecallslittlegirls7and8
wholosetheirflowerseveryday.
Plasticbarrettesonasidewalk.
Trashhearrangesandframes.
Somuchtrashhedecidedtopickituphimself.
Topickitupandpaintitandputitbackdownagain.
ApoemaboutRenny
spraypaintingallthetrashgold.
Allthebottlesandthevialsandthepoop.
Apoemaboutspraypaintingallthepoopgold
untiltheyshowedup,
untiltheyshowedupintheirarmyoftrucks,
totakeallthegoldaway.
Steve Orthsusan landers
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Steve Orthzack haber
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FromMalcolmXPark
ForWhereEaglesDare
Ohwereall
Soboringand
Stupidunder
Iwantyour
Ridiculous
Onthefloor
Forlornand
Youforgetting
Toknowyoure
Naked
SoIshowered
Washedoff
Wantwith
Extrawater
Tookanap
Waited
Meditated
Decomposed
Readpoems
Nobody
Wordless
DIS
SOLVE
PART
ICLES
Enjoy
ICLES
Smallsmall
Parts
Smaller
Andsmaller
Andsmaller
UntilIcould
Holdmein
My
Theproblem
Withmenis
Theyblame
Everyoneelse.
Theproblem
Withwomen
Isthey
Blamethemselves.
Theproblem
Withhumans
Isblame.
Somethinghas
Tobeeasier.
Ithoughtthis
Wasallpart
Ofrevolution
Andutopia
Easingthe
Interaction
Butapparently
Computation
Isnttaught
Inthebible.
Ireallydo
Prefer
Women.
(nothingtodoexcept
Anxiety
Primarilyproblematic
Soreshinskins
Backlabels
Spidercreepsings
Getlower&
Itsalmost
Failure
Lacklacklack
Attack
Someenergyis
Lurking
Beforeathought
Damnthought
Actionsconstipation
Backsick
Astrologymedicine
Jupiterhas12%of
Theplentbut
77%ofthemass
Lottolottolott
Blameblameblame
Namenamename
Threetime
Game
NOTYOUNOTME
NO
Steve Orthkaty bohinc
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Drawaboundary
Slowly
Stuckinyourhear
Mud
Quicksand
Canswallowa
Humaninsix
Seconds!
Wellthatsnice.
Shaman!Shaman!
Help
SHAMAN!
Donthave
Anywords
Forme
Anymore
Thanyou.
Startparenthesis
Becauseat
TheendIwant
Tocupyour
Flailingsinmy
Palm.I
Practiced.No
Pinch.Startle
Impressvelvet
Aluminumsturdy
Settlepaper
Weightoffer
Inyournaked
Notmyflinch
Thatiswas
Possiblenever
Never.Never
Alwaysgave
Mepause
Ilikethat
Thought
Akindof
Responsibility
Inthewhatever
Agephff
Names?I
Canbarely
Handle
Lettersbut
Youinthe
Bednextspace
Allhonesty
Silenthanging
Theregod
Illeatyour
Clichevery
Day.
SoIwent
Towork
Makesomething
Work
Log
1st
Tech
Nique
1st
Anals!
Cyst!
Sortaelegant
Thatbeing
Dartsat
Thewall
Stringsof
Perfecttens
Everyoneand
Awhilelet
Themindrun
Theage
Rhythmsheartbeat
Goingampersand
Metronome
DAMNITWORKED
LIKEaperfectclock
Andsatisfying.
Forgetlack.
Backbackback
Needneedneed
Afterthecrisis.
Truetruetrue
Afterthemurder
Hespent
Alotoftime
Writing
MURDERED
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Veryclearlyon
Hiswhiteshirt
Inmagicmarker.
Iwonderwhere
Hegotthemagic
Marketandif
Therearelimits
Tobesidethe
Pointcuriosity.
Ampersand.BUT.
EITHERORPOIGNANCY
Thegoodnewsis
Acomputercant
Westillneed
Humans.
Iateapizza
Itwas
Random
Butitwasnt
Thatrandom
Itwaspizza
AllIwantis
Randombut
Reductivekeeps
Drowning
Me.
Unformedchildren
Andmonks
Remindme
Justbe
Happywith
Redagain
Andagain
Classic
Sopostmodern
Clichwoke
Upbut
Stilldidnt
Connectwith
Therents
SoBabel
Fuckedstill
Imsoawake
Imalways
Screaming
Awesome.
ArtIjust
Wanttopurr
You!
Iwanttostare
Attheflickering
Lightinthe
Woodfirestove
FIREisalways
Random
Ishouldbein
ArtIdmake
Moremoney
Sorry.Ijust
Wanttobuy
Youbirds
Foryour
Birthday.
Ohandalways
Givethebenefit
Ofthedoubt
Asanexample
Ofhowwe
Shouldallbe
Tomake
Utopiapossible.
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From Autobiography of Michael Nicoloff
what is your vision for this upload
beasts of the field intrigued by nonfiction
the epic of the pony but the memoir of the horse
the balance between enough space and enough mugs
tasteful nudes
strangle me with my mouse wire
things you shouldn't open with on a cold call
unfortunate vest
bat planning
a tuber time invents
stops chirping
Steve Orthmichael nicoloff
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an illustration changes us
rank these from 1 to 5: beefy,
the jumble,
weapons-grade sexting,
the flames rising out of the ocean liner,
the giant face you see
flirting in blood
the speed of the lotus
the chip beater
hot cola
looking hella fierce
in the holy ghost trance
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get Wotan pronto
don't barf
don't rot
don't tolerate numbers
just a bacon cheeseburger
collaborating with your younger self
sperm emails
increasing brand control
I just need a man-sized bird nest
I demand naptime
fueled by manliness
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working group on the feminist city
late game appreciation for nature
critical terms that went nowhere
using somebody else's guts
in situations that are impossible
to feel good about, i.e.,
to feel good about
shipping pallets
being physically vulnerable
feeling good about having too much face
please let me use my mind to this purpose
go back to old forms
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Steve Orthsteve dickison
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Steve Orthanahita jamali rad
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I thought we'd look good together
by Anahita Jamali Rad
to tear (verb)
on one
another
each other
apart
like living
with nothing
on nothing
familiar
familial
forgetting
on sidewalks
like nothing
is spilling
there's nothing
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for giving
a number
for making
a killing
or taking
a beating
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THE CALLED TALLERS
Lame assassin said its nude court of extraneous sun refrigerators, extraneous lunar court retinas. Demolishment's evil gust and popular Spanish music
(my God, a pencil) and eleven vibing Medeas suggest corn light, new grass, and errant lasting 11:30 of the night's ebbing only pair of sunglasses, no habit of abandonment in total, the poetry a lick calling jello rock cute little dross.
Pale old male markets and pesters for simple accumulation. Lame assassin's days of ocular bravado metabolically dispatch the red cess ecolab. Some merchant airs days of applause, lapsed eras engrimed in your liquor of signs.
Steve Orthdaniel owen
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THE CURVE
Alp and lil' eros of 20 years, charmed ego, elk court plums in alp escape zones of chill ends, 25 years, univocal tourist, a day is an hour. Elk court plums as blank ocular moles, as venting nascent day is an hour
of hate money in cane and the last images of ambush seem to recruit poor united seconds. The letter of cancellation, a coffee with milk, an injection, a span of talons trepan what hulls a mirror, the near ice day, unnamed, abjures, bronchitis delves in rain. Last manic ossuary reels day's core under court in a
late communion. Dawn's passion, a trace of mirrored roast's desultory aggressor (pods of iguana mints discurse sullen laser yells). Old dastard palace brags, a quelled braid of snow ascertaining a moved verse of southern ventricles, a species of premature poor divestment at home, mass oven cakes teen delay, and the peals of Canada enter
lost arcades of Plaza Martorell in Barcelona. Dawn passes, a trance commotion of juice ghosts' noon cow beers, a finalized map of haste. 15 years, the desert of lonely manifestos sins a semi-sunrise and traces a pyramid, a buffalo, a sordid day star, the brazen necrotic jovial, perennial succor plumbs
pork in the mental dell of chilling ocean slaves.
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NOT A MELLOW ME OCCURS IN RERUN
A quelled cape part of God frontier rerun sells llama Destiny but oh yeah lead into Demented Girl. A quelled cake, ornery with velvet Oz, for last lineage of my hand
sells llama Destruction but O yodels indigo Silent Girl. Avenue in simpers, amicable.
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OTHER AMENDS IN THE STAR OF THE OCEAN CAMPGROUND
Only the radio cruises the silence (magnificent nude magnificent air) voices, legion, cake Om parties
contiguous songs cable ailing friends, hasten ultra quandary mill, gooning tenants venting years unerasing most, minus probes and minus serene
K holes (magnificent nude magnificent air) sweet as style, O new vote of the springtime 10 grades of sober zero at last 6 AM.
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DAY 5
WINDING RIVER: A PART HE COULD NOT BORROW
Drop of water to drop of water
dragonfly leisure and vagabond
buzz debt barging up river and down.
Thirty more years wearing flowered
shirts conversing with the bodies
they want. Add temporary
works: a knot of roots under
a parking lot, an egret in its egg
wondering what its wings are for.
But who is going to purchase that?
Subtract phase rewards: we must
write all our animals now. I revolve
in the gravity of spirits above
the sea electric with Napoleon
below on that prison island beating
the air, flightless and stupid. Red
cranes spoil the beaches, and then
my isolation feels so mechanical.
I am following a single water
bugs total circuit from truck bed
Steve Orthce putnam
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(10 PAX) to pink funnel to yellow
work boots. Lizards in the stairwell,
ants in the walls. There is a deep,
deep distance I feel it out there,
an internal ocean, tiding up beyond
any horizon. I need to see our planet
in the water, the white flower does
not stop going down.
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DAY 78
I TEASED OUT MY ALBA
Your feelings before
the morning rules: coffee!
did the tie up and down
gently with wooden
wrists and rope
pick a branch of sugar
mine is a coma measure
of being able to pause
thus, whenever the song continues
it survives on green breath
and cues up the EVOL eye
wake me up Spoons!
or follow me into the shade.
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DAY 95
THE EVERLASTING NOODLE IS ITS DELIGHT
Yesterday, I saw frizzled
lizards and had a laugh
at their jolly caricature
of stately Queen Bees
with their head attire,
ruff, feathered and courtly
train, do you want to see?
Our walk is being
pulled along by frail
dogs. It is not just
a feeling of corruption
without profit without you
outside the city walls
then some noodles
taking off shoes in our tiny
days bowling on red carpet
my dear fish balls someone
is howling three times
along with the cardboard
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pile in the stairwell three
times the spicy broth
with peanuts is over there
look away three times
not many happy days filled
bean sprouts on top remember
when we took ourselves off
into the moonlit hanger
and were floating
there up high and beyond
all stars we might as well have
that as our tender keepsake
falling away.
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1
Biwrixle
llama w
ill voluntar
ism leg
less force squirrel-
wing membr
ane elegy d
irge win
ce pagan pop
pies burning
over green skull-li
ke cabbages black
mounds li
fe of vegetables' lea
ves bore in
bearded development all
ege the natur
naturalists colour-f
leck tractor ray
ces illusions light
silk slippers dus
ty city clogs, hooflike
watermelon cleft empty
ness of state
Steve Orthdonato mancini
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2
twitter boi
l mutter whist
le trout tit ill
ate glass gerund
dive horseback pelt
anteater-ton
gue blown crystal
line theatre chir
ring bourgeois toa
d add quarrel dye t
o slopes crisp t
toast crunch root
s at gold cognac, ant
hology jangle keys
of language t
hick-walle
d semivowel abyss
ticklish request en
crust de
vout fat talk with
lactifluous competence
thesis tail cof
fee nupt
ial acci
dent omelette
immense lottery wheel
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3
whirr hypo-
critical acorns mon
ks cap antennae
ar is
ta te
got
hic pine
cone smelt milk
lancet tel
egram yacht collusio
n dry telephone drip
dripdrip
drip small-c
small-com
modity belt be
littling shuttlecock apple
told listen
ed understood
icy spa
zz swans m
ini squints h
ue-noise jaguar
s ear flau
tist lip oilsick c
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4
anti allprize
coal strawberries
cochineal bead ver
million lump
damp chemise rot to ope
n velvet azure
ibsen problem sum
mon burnoose zouave a
barber shaving the brgermeister
grazes! and if pa
le dim
innuendo in
fidel wrinkles raise
vision-teeth
crushed by binoculars cr
umble pol
icemanly phizz je
suitical tentacle
caresses con
vexity frisky
didactic bi
foliate
pleophonous
whirlw
ind pool incunabular sur
f well-m
eant alcazarian inte
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5
rjections: forward!
lower!
away!
tap!
cameo!
enough!
enough!
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Steve Orthd. scott miller
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BILDUNGSROMAN
Anne Boyer
the death of kurt cobain. the death of river phoenix. the death of johnny depp. the death of the
fresh prince of bel aire. the death of molly ringwald. the death of keifer sutherland. the death of
ally sheedy. the death of juliette lewis. the death of winona ryder. the death of gary coleman. the
death of jim jarmusch. the death of quentin tarantino. the death of gus van sant. the death of
robert smith. the death of polly jean harvey. the death of royal trux. the death of stephen
malkmus. the death of krs one. the death of debbie harry. the death of bret easton ellis. the
death of lisa left eye lopez. the death of sinead oconner. the death of erykah badu. the death of
all the cosmonauts. the death of sassy magazine. the death of jessie jackson. the death of
prince charles. the death of francois mitterand. the death of missy elliott. the death of the
sandinistas. the death of el salvador. the death of chile. the death of argentina. the death of
guatemala. the death of the soviet union. the death of the united states. the death of yakoff
smirnoff. the death of chelsea clinton. the death of courtney love. the death of frances bean.
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Steve OrthWhere Eagles Dare will return in the fall.Please send work to:482 40th St #6 Oakland, CA 94609steveorth25@gmail.com
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Steve Orth