Entire Contents Copyright ©2004 All Rights Reserved.
"the confrontation of aesthetics..."
a production
vol. ii, issue v
Nov. 10, 2004
sept.  2003

the cabal


ask Yeti


chi chi
j. tyler blue
bryan e.
blem vide













several poems
sean kilpatrick

First Thoughts of a Dehydrated
Journalist Visiting the Jonestown Remains

the dead
on call waiting
carry their rashes
to Jonestown and bloat
under dick-sized shadows
of tree branch

their bodies are questions
i flip off
my shoes
to answer
toes patting  them down
like a Naugahyde pulse

apple-core faces
i lick the plastic rot
lay the final hubby
on telephone wires

my little mannequins
glued together with spaghetti

poor boys
frosted cocks
toothpaste veins

my clit is a backwards cylinder
filled with pennies

stiff there

not a single live tongue

no eyes
cold for rape
hopeless want
or explanation

raising their hands
in empty classrooms

to ask a rooster
if it thinks about dessert
before pecking

yes the social corpses
are sadly few

the beauty of rape is seen
coming out of the room
with slabs
and realizing what a great
misfortune it is
to be able…

one face
before the bullet connects
explosion receding the cheeks

a leaf-shaped tear
from the center jaw
flaps up sprinkling
bits of sharp enamel
pale fractions of tongue

the head jumping back
then forward
a nod at 1000mph

gravity curls its finger
and the blood comes

he flattens the high-grass
shivering like a sack
of wet shit

or a happy meal waiting
in the drive-through window
like true happiness

like years from now
how my children may spit:

“it has all been said more wisely
and there is nothing to do
but continue acting”

my tears were microscopic thumbs

if she scraped herself
into a horde of buckets

the humble sacred trinity

adorned my letters
with tiny scarves

until they sang they sang

brought toilet paper
to the sleepy machines

small teeth small teeth

wiped my neighbor’s ass
with asbestos

still crying crying quietly

I would not take a bus south

I would careen
like a baptized mutt

strip naked the freshly bathed lawns
find worms and swim

swim with them
home to china
and love another

even though her arms
were matchstick thin
she cradled my weaknesses

floated me into a bay
of kerosene
and went

and me too

Julie Sits Waiting in a Skirt Just to Her Round Knees,
Looking Deathly Serious and Beautiful

I have lost eons of complacency
waiting for your dime-store
mind to function independent
of gender or the way my legs cross

you are your own unwritten bible
kamikaze of self indulgencies

you exist for scientific purposes
that have long expired

and I will leave you sucking your thumb
for anyone serious who can remind me
I still have nerve endings

you will not be dumped
because some garbage floats

and I will yawn through
a decimation of your resplendent stuttering
through a universe of tears
through decadent arguments of boring selfishness
through a million bombs sliding down you belt

I will purr
split apart
go crazy
I will curve like a gymnast
choked happily by
the hands of real men
on any man’s bed
on a preacher’s bed
on a doctor’s bed
pressing my hot belly against a cop
on the mailman’s bed