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the dictionary-of-hate issue
march
2004
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I have something
very different in mind, which I choose not to share. A hint: It
begins with surgery and ends in Kansas City. I bet you wish. I wish,
too.
christopher kennedy
Braunkreuz
translates literally as brown-cross. It is a "live" medium,
elemental, the color is a description of itself and its treacherous
activity. Not only a color designed and chosen, but a description of
its material, iron.
samantha
peale
The mystery of
terror/rests in God,/no less in evil.
jerome rothenberg
Listening looking
into those things. Always too slow to attract interest. A lonely
impression
jukka lehmus
Fine, she thinks.
Let them starve. The cats, lean with old resentments, patrol below.
magdalen powers
Bohemia was a
place where the girls got as soon as possible,
many books under her fingers, closing sounds are
jarring to some
jeff harrison
what's behind
door number one or the curtain of fire -- a spiral bound note book.
a dictionary of hate. someone is at the steering wheel saying: " I
am oz, the great and powerful, oz."
kari edwards
At night, she had
dreamt about the hand that would grow from the finger. Slowly the
whole body began to take shape: an elbow bent, skin stretched over
collarbones, a vein in the neck pulsed.
catherine kasper
This is my cup/This
is my hoax/here is my spinal column in a birdcage/of plaster -- my
back abloom/red flower/my astonished heart
megan burns
Deserves to be
booked. Book any that haven't bled./Each an appeal to capture.
thomas fink
The bitter
cream moth of her mouth,/abundant and almost secretly
dancing
lina ramona vitkauskas
And still the
list grows, the shrew gets thinner and the boy hears this and that
and they fly and audition but really she's just waiting for him to
die in a small room like this one so the boy never has to confront
his past.
peter conners
a few decent
people/of good intention/make the dark/tolerable)
ron bayes
If only machismo
was for eunuchs, if only your promises weren't covered in poison
ivy, if only the paint matched my pants.
ian alexander faring
Each night he slides
a stack of crimson inflationary currency over the sill of the wire
wicket, behind which a woman sits who hands him, in return, a loop
of blue tickets. Always it is the same girl with whom he dances --
the one in the yellow dress, which makes a crepuscular music, she
whose hair is the color of certain sunsets.
norman lock
I
placed coal in your stocking/Because I wanted to be near you
mike topp
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