Entire Contents Copyright ©2004 All Rights Reserved.
sept.  2003

the cabal


ask Yeti


chi chi
j. tyler blue
bryan e.
blem vide













"the confrontation of aesthetics..."
a production
vol. ii, issue vi
dec. 20, 2004
Alison Daniel

He Was Fat And Ugly And He Smoked In My Bed

A pumice stone couldn't remove jaundiced
nicotine stains or the explanation using strong after-shave
hid chain-smoking that clogged the most open pore.

The after-shave smelt like ammonia and the time
he sliced onions while I melted butter in some half-hearted
domestic scene made obscene when he put down the knife

and started pacing the way I'd seen him pace
when he thought hidden messages on the radio where clues
only he knew. It didn't matter I felt confused

when he yelled I slept around, had one-night stands,
tried to sweet talk replies as to why I didn't answer the phone
when he called before he left his place for mine.

He said he knew the truth. And it wasn't the pathetic
paranoia, the madness of that nauseating pace,
the circle tightening like a rope around my neck.

And it didn't matter he destroyed my phone,
that he wanted me silent, his hands gripping my arms
so hard I had blue, purple, then green fingerprints

imbedded in my flesh for days. Forensic photos
and a doctor's report say the assault was made by a right
handed male and it doesn't matter he owned up to killing

my phone, said the rest was a plot to tarnish
what he believed to be is almost famous name.
He was fat and ugly and he smoked in my bed.

The Misdemeanor of Morpheus

The solitary sound I finally
breathe out

matches the cold
sheets left untouched and

maybe you fled
like a fugitive scared to death

knowing if you stayed
it meant

addictions are a curse
some say it's criminal the way

you left
but didn't explain the first time

we kissed
or what happened

how it was never enough

so we'd do it again and again until I'd touch
the sweat

wetting your hair
smell the smell of our sex

before I forget the misdemeanors
of Morpheus

are the same
as remembering

every detail
of your sleeping face

What Aphrodite Does To Hermes

Aphrodite searches for her transparent
black knickers, the ones she bought for him
at K-Mart, then gift wrapped with divine
messages to Hermes lying naked in bed.
He imagines the purity of white stretched
translucently is the same as his natal cleft
greased and spread when Aphrodite's tongue
darts, then plunges until Hermes has the
biggest orgasm he's ever ever had.

The Practice of Purification Using A Sanskrit Spring

Cunt is not the same in Sanskrit
because it becomes 'kunt'

and is supposed to mean a spring
consecrated to some holy person

which is hard to believe
unless there is something spiritual

the way one thing leads to another,
the way we test

how duality becomes one
liquid taste like the time  he gently

spread my legs to drink all that he'd left
inside and I cried out his name

until our mouths exchanged
the purest of all our sexual flavors.

Alison Daniel