Airs on the G String/Mark Young

introit

Bach may have

publicly stated

he was wryting

songs of praise

to a Xtian god,

but I think he had

a much more uni-

versal one in mind.

1.

Erstwhile

trans-

parency. The

skin stretched.

Through which

the light once

shone. Now stripped,

glued to the

wall. Stories told

about it but

lit from the

wrong side.

2.

today's iso-

topic comes

from living in

a world of

half-

lives &

decay

3.

Taken as a

given. So

different from

received

as a gift.

4.

Lost &

found

in a

small area

of time he

has

cut back

& cleared

in order

to grow

agapanthus.

5.

Physical land -

(e)scape. Arrogance

of. Or passivity.

Slowly taken

over or is

overrun by. He

implored himself,

a voyage of

self-discovery. Spin

cycle. River drift.

6.

& not all beginnings

are the same

no matter

how much alike

they look. Not

all are

beginnings. Some

may be. The end.

7.

The balance

        struck

        even if

accidentally.

The man next door

with a chain saw

        cutting trees.

        Bowie video clip

on MTV.

8.

He carried a cage

with nothing in it.

A small bird.

Thalidomide wings.

Flew quite delicately.

Mouth open. Mute.

A beautiful song.

It carried the cage.

9.

Always a part of him

that didn't understand, that

came in late after the

introductions were over.

10.

Those parts of

      his life that

      he couldn't

currently transcribe

he planted with

      flowers in the

      hope he could

pick them later.

envoi

If in the

next

world

                old lovers

are the closest

one comes

to having

friends

he shall

still be

                 lonely.

Sweet Tooth/Sanjeev Sethi

I’m an oxymoron in incubator

of excess seeking

nidus in never-never land.

Dressing up desire

makes it easier to accept.

Urge seems less ugly.

Cerebral undertones add

a coat of cleanliness.

Had execrableness

been sedated,

exigencies wouldn't

have snared me.

In the Sheer Drop of Noise on a Highway/Raymond Farr

Back then my feet were sugar to wandering boys

& so I would never wear shoes

I left ashes in the air of the rooms I exited

I was clutching at isotopes but laughing in the bathtub

& you walking away with the bath water—

There was lumpy vomit all over yr bell bottoms

It was like you were standing there naked

On the other end of a pay phone, the words ORANGES

& SARDINES plastered across the vacant lots of yr eyes

It was like yr hands were paper nests piled on the trundle bed

& winter was a lion roaring in the sheer drop

Of noise on the highway—a flock of galumphing

Goldfinches twisted by nihilism into bird origami

Only darkened our view from the river

The Bill Amending the Career Plan/Matt Margo

He claims that she works in the station. The action is merit-to-merit at noon in reverse. At dusk and off Irish fields, pure truth—it also rains. The action worsens want to teach. No use having the belly up… I thought I showed eye-popping support for his work, and look where the guy is now. We want to get out of the water below, with all this academic buffoonery that operates on high and at home. Willy-nilly women recognize the original plan operator, the London water depth, the hour… It is going to be good to point out that the quake caused the temporal. I draw body and soul, clowning him to come down, take shame in the face, and demonstrate courage in practice programs. Home family cinema forces us to accept this. The creek of stones is prohibited, yes. It has now been voted the best in the field. I’m ready to go back to this new old, accompanied by redness and gentlemen. Let’s take advantage of the week about to leave.