. . . MORE VISITORS!

AFTERWORD



Pleasure is but a can

Of earth, and the soul

No more than

A great bladder.



A can of Jesus is our god,

A can of Jesus and/or rats;

The rats are weeping;

Jesus is the earth;



The earth is your brother.

Here are your good habits.

Say it

In a voice so loud,



So loud that Jesus can hear it,

So loud that I can no longer hear it.

That voice! You sounded

Just like my brother.


— Aaron Kunin

The Sore Throat & Other Poems




THOSE SHIPFITTERS WHO DREAM



in perfect ships, hulls mad

with longing jut into blue or mist, depends.

On what you've lost. You think you can't bear it,

each clown uncovers himself in smiles the wider

the sadder. A girl's pulse a bracelt loosening her wrist.

A cup of coffee anywhere in the world on a warm porch,

or maybe yours is different. Your scars. I know that

after the burns small petals as a rose & pink

like I was then. Some evening comfort.

A river reaches up & tangles.

In Minneapolis the bridges like clamps

over the city's open heart stopped for winter.

In Dallas, the heat. You don't want to know Fort Wayne.

Can't know New Orleans. This same friend who saw you fall into love

sees you fall out. Sees you cheat. First thing in the morning

sinks his hands into dough, the baker. Discards the blood

in a long plastic tube, the nurse. Straps on a bomb.

The terrorist is lying, too. The friend who says

nothing is worth this. Everything is.


— Josie Sigler

Living Must Bury




THE HUMAN EXPERIMENT



You can picture a trillion go go fields.

On each inch grid a different swab of culture.

Just add light add heat just add water.

But cannot guess what each swab will yield.

When & in which place the plot will rupture.

A conscious bloom that when peeled.

Out will shiver out & search out borders for fire.

Bloom picture the dumb son circle. Vulture your.

Bald skull skin burns slither to the dirt go shield.

It go dig deep go go where you've already keeled.

[Still shoveling asleep in the finally night] over.

And over it pierced your first & over dream it sealed.

Your eyes open & in them it pitched in them a pasture.


— Ben Doller

Dead Ahead



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