ABOUT

CONTENTS

EDITORIAL

ARCHIVE

LAGNIAPPE

MAST

SUBMISSIONS

Five Poems
by Sandra Miller

He Works for a Smithy.

he works for a smithy
where did you get that hammer
i need a lot of help

he’s the one who customizes
your swords

can you help me a bit
on my game

i’m a little bit
only
the mist that sits there

i have no idea
i didn’t see the fence

the bad bad guy
you do not mind his argument

a squirrel that follows
many guitars

this was short
timely
columnar

do not sight the Alps
do not leave your house
had i a way

i’m just happy we killed a ghost
and then what

why do you have to have to
& what is the adjective of lamb?

children
no more
for the sun

i had a curfew
a curriculum
and curves

we go west
we go

tonight they will loudly
mull it

green is the color
yellow is the color
blue is the color
what rose

                                                                                         ‘I am about everything.’
                                                                                             ‘Don’t you envy me?’

                                                                                 nothing out there in the grass
                                                                                                   didn’t tumble her

Seeking Havoc.

seeking havoc
the man wants to kill me
still
waiting at the grange

wouldn’t hurt to
stood
bruising
thick salt hands

of the ear
her recollections of f are off
madam
i was substitute
d
with a cigar

my car drives me
south
so south

at the party a party
a holder

borderline hair
& martyrs
tell me more

prairie pounder
in thunder
hold
in number

Phantasm.

ye starved companions
have ye left the car crash
stripped ye blankets
of their eidol.

he wears what are called
rabbits on his ears.

i got red dirt sick red clay
show me your thumbs
in glass.

m’étoile—

the rocks are not disgusting
the owl walks.

the surgery we
perform
on each other
an opera.

the phantasmatic suburb
pandemonial red-shirted crowd
or fevered condition—

marvellous
these dark rooms
a goblinstoria—

ghosts into thought
burning up the british
with a mirror.

How to Raise a Ghost
How to Use It

two glasses of blood
a bottle of vitriol
twelve drops of aqua fortis
two numbers of the journal
a small livid
some sparrow feathers
a young fop
a few grains of phosphorous
a dozen butterflies—

asked to see the shade
i had a recipe for that.

L’Ami des Lois
Galerie de la Femme Invisible

a ventriloquism
a speaking-tube
an invisible glass harmonica—

a somber incoherent speech
a metamorphosis—

there was not one quai
been crying.

Of Leaping.

Of leaping
tympan syndrome

Stricken
like all new york

Girls
i wore a tutu
tutu we’re not in

That woman had no name
it was not that we did not know her name
she had none

We whisked attitudes
with
we with whisked
maturities

A child is born an ovary
he wears his ovaries on his sleeve
on his arm

A critter
pauses

A hem of some sum
keeps her from us
does the on purpose breaking of the strand
make thousands closer

Caracas
caracas’ hope

Gravure
said here alters
pass over

Silent shrill
a shell fish
i was holding

In his violent dream he was the victor
the vicar
of boom

I would not be so
if i were you

I am you

Purdee helpless
perdita
at 19

At 19
i do not understand loess
what you carry in your kitty
when i was 17

Dressed in far flung floral
o caste system, speak to me
the american wastrel

Carry on
this necklace will tell you who stole it
the 5 million griffes

Tell me who you mar

It’s
pellucid
grammed
tinted falling with no sound

A different sound on hitting
than you thought

Have but one
but one rock that is not for throwing

Or sounding
i am finished
we said
take it away

We Hunter the Excuser.

We hunter the excuser
we hunter the tree

some laundry was not being done
& its implications

its it’s

‘tis ack
pracktackle

we winter here
verbiger
& free

aspirante
tied up in trees

& your car was wooden
you did not know better
in the dream

a full jar of heroines
am i to be blamed for
aspen spring

please dispute plenty
you stop off for
you hold on for
place the bags on the floor

he lifted up
his lief

a buoy
an extra
a tarnish

plenty
stops no man

organize the orange
landing

take care of the bees
see to the tumble
make your face shaped square

tell me about it.