poem
Tape Mark Poem. Nanni Balestrini
Hair between lips, they all return
to their roots in the blinding fireball
I envision their return, until he moves his fingers
slowly, and although things flourish
takes on the well known mushroom shape endeavouring
to grasp while the multitude of things come into being.
Johnny takes up smoking. Luca Paci
Simply fed up of waiting
Finding an easy way to shorten his
Certain death
And he knows it’s bad for you
That’s why he does it
That’s why he rips out his
Bloody thoughts of grandeur
And crushes them under the
Pressure of his cowboy heels
He knows time’s running out
He knows that plastic lasts for
Centuries and will probably outlive
Any animal.
A Postcard from the Volcano. Wallace Stevens
Children picking up our bones
Will never know that these were once
As quick as foxes on the hill;
And that in autumn, when the grapes
Made sharp air sharper by their smell
These had a being, breathing frost;
And least will guess that with our bones
We left much more, left what still is
The look of things, left what we felt
At what we saw. The spring clouds blow
Above the shuttered mansion-house,
Beyond our gate and the windy sky
Cries out a literate despair.
We knew for long the mansion’s look
And what we said of it became
A part of what it is . . . Children,
Still weaving budded aureoles,
Will speak our speech and never know,
Will say of the mansion that it seems
As if he that lived there left behind
A spirit storming in blank walls,
A dirty house in a gutted world,
A tatter of shadows peaked to white,
Smeared with the gold of the opulent sun.
Poem. Arthur Coleman
Sick and tired of sucking blood from hearts as they pound
slowly down to a halt, the vampire retired himself in a tomb
overlaid with miserable images of Christ in agony and weeping
cherubim to lie appalled by the gruesome hallucinations
seen by undead fiends deprived of sustenance: hell
the black hole spreading out in waves, thunderous and colorless,
from an imperturbable center; the shiny luster of the devil’s eye.
Visited by recollections of numberless encounters, methods of
seduction
that led unfailingly to his tongue, now dusty with disuse, lapping
about
in hot sanguine baths as his throat convulsed to the rhythm of the
pulse
of his prey, quickened by the panic that settles in after the violent
thrashing subsides and the vampire glimpses through wide dilated eyes
what all mortals are to be seized by and look on unendingly.
RiZoMa 