- Burning to Read – Hal Bogotch
- Let’s take it easy – Jim Smith
- The Magic Cape – Majid Naficy
- 90291 – Venice USA – Tina Catalina Corcoran
- In the Bathroom at the Hotel Cornell – krista schwimmer
- Birds II – Paul Beethovan
- There Are Days – Humberto Gómez Sequeira-HuGóS
- Verit – Cameron Pryor
———————————————Burning to Read
What could be done with a book by Henry Miller? It could be
picked up. It could be checked out. It could be ripped
like a bodice ripper novel. It could be heaved up into a bower or atop a tall tower.
It could be set afire and then quickly extinguished like the fleeting lust of a pair of fervently humping bunnies.
It could be held. Squeezed tight. It could be banned. It could be burned. It could be read. And devoured.
-Hal Bogotch ——————
Let’s take it easy
By Jim Smith
Venice is for kickin’ it for just goofin’ off We’re always late What’s the rush?
New York, L.A., Frisco they’re for business, rushin’ around in suits & ties & heels
But Venice my Venice we squish sand between our toes Stay up late and cogitate while they make their silly deals
They’re busy with their clocks & traffic jams While we sing and dance & touch & hug They worry & take their meds to stay alive We toke the holy herb & let the rest slide
The Magic Cape
By Majid Naficy
Running toward the beach
I saw her on the stairs
lying at the last landing
And a rusty cart separated her from the world.
I asked myself: “Is it a woman? … Is it a man?
Or a puppet full of straw?”
She wore a black hat
And a large winter coat
Covered with a white blanket
Like that of my little niece.
She always sucked it through her teeth
And sometimes put it on
Like a magic cape.
When did she leave her house?
Was it raining that night?
Did someone walk her to the door
Or was she alone?
Did she bang the door with a shout
Or creep out of it slowly?
Did she go to find a new world
Or want to give up forever?
Why did she leave her castle
To barricade behind this cart?
When I returned
I did not see her.
Perhaps she was wearing
Her magic cape.
——————90291 – Venice USA
By Tina Catalina Corcoran
What a Dream! What a GREAT All American Dream! What a Scene! What a GREAT All American Scene! What a MAN – What a GREAT All American Man! 90291 – Dreaming in the Sun – What a Land!
What I mean: IS – A MAN, in this Land, is a Dream! In a Dream – Well, a man, in this Land, is a King! When THE KING – Takes YOUR HAND – You’re A QUEEN! 90291 – Venice, All night long – What a Scene!
When THE KING – When THE KING and THE QUEEN “do their thing” – What THEY BRING – What THEY BRING, are THE CHILDREN, who Sing – Sing, Love’s SONG – In a Land, where THEY ALWAYS BELONG! 90291 – Hear THE CHILDREN’S SONG – Sing Along! 90291 – Singing in the Sun – I BELONG! 90291 – Venice IS A SONG – WE BELONG!
—————-In the Bathroom at the Hotel Cornell
Standing before the Polished Mirror I look at the scar above my crotch — half of it has disappeared — the other reminds me of a dark grin.
“You’re almost 50,” the Mirror points out. “Face it — you don’t have the body of your youth. And don’t pretend it won’t get worse!”
“Well,” I reply, “I’ve lasted longer than the Maiden Joan whose image abounds everywhere here at the Hotel Cornell: in tapestries, in statues, in plaques, in posters, the Maid of Orleans reminds me that not all women, even when young, concern themselves with the supple body.”
The Mirror considers my statement, then admits — “You could have fared worse. Hers was a life consumed by vision, betrayed by royalty, and fed to the fire.”
We stand there, sizing up one another, the Mirror and me. At last, the dark grin wins. “You’ve won this round!” I tell the Mirror. “But it’s not over yet. Joan may have recanted once, but she held out to the end.”
The Mirror says nothing. My husband calls me back. I walk away, looking over my shoulder, and see in the Mirror’s Face the reflection of my lovely ass.
I guess the gift Is in the lift You flying there of light Wings on air Like Fred Astaire! I don’t dare! Lost beggars wandering aimlessly Inches above the ocean water Another Albatross Morning!
-Paul Beethovan —————-
There Are Days By Humberto Gómez Sequeira-HuGóS There are days on which I feel the urgency of exposing myself, like a naked ape running amock on Wall Street, to the consuming elements:
The price index and war for the salvation of the faith in the banking system that continually test my capacity for keeping the mind still like a monk absorbed in meditation inside the furnace of suffering alimented by the avarice of the bankers.
Will my head be ignited by a flare of wisdom or will I collapse with the stock market like an innocent bystander killed by friendly fire? —————- Verit Carrot … Coach … Run French Connection Jail and what’s outside Looking in How do I escape my Sadness How do I begin?
Is it what everything’s Saying Is it what I’m relating?
Is twelve o’clock straight up to a clock Am I in the groove Listening to rock? Or do I need silence to think and dream about what I might find?
Till the morning sun The light and now I feel blind.
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