CGP 18: to know this
by Angela Veronica Wong (20 pp. Saddle-Stitched w/ Die-Cut Stars) $7 ppd.

In to know this Angela Veronica Wong maps the constellation of the body and its desires.  The life of a star is the life of a person.  Wong's spare, precise lines chart a firmament that is both celestial and down-to-earth.

From to know this
by Angela Veronica Wong

                                   to know stars die:
in wartime, countries
trade bodies for prisoners.
what is more valuable—a body
symbolic, or a body alive?  would you
trade for mine would i want
to trade for yours      is it
the body or the wanting
my want of your body my want
for your body to be my body or maybe just
next to my body       animals curled
in water     this is how I wish
to be – warmth       belonging       the L next to an S
somewhere between the meeting and the knowing
the wanting and the having
like clean sheets on a bed
hints of what is to come.

CGP 17: Off the Beaten Trakl
by Joel Sloman (20 pp. Saddle-Stitched) $7 ppd.

Responding to Cy Gist Press editor Mark Lamoureux's call for poets to do more translation, Joel Sloman created this homophonic, stereoscopic, phantasmagoric "translation" of the work of Austrian poet Georg Trakl.  Sloman makes a sock poet of the author's solemn memory, dragging Trakl dumfounded into our contemporary world of Robin Williams films, scones and hip-hop workboots.   With a fetching (pun intended) cover by Kate Ledogar.  In the words of the author, "It's fucking hot, Snowy!"

by Joel Sloman

A strange woman wearing a green sweater walks by
Open trucks with hoses guard alterations
Sonja’s legs rest on a chair, she is reviled
Cold regulates bums and hobos

I wave to the sightseers on the trolley
Sunflowers and more sunflowers are delighted
By Sonja’s white interpretation of reggae
Red snow—wondrous—bubbles

A blue clerk wears a muscle tee
Sonja’s shirt is dry cleaned, fumes
Tiers of turbans grates England
Ali’s young daughter wears a long red dress with silver sequin patterns

Sonja sips a thick mocha shake
Her son tags along after her
Her sage brow acknowledges loneliness
Her shirt is too stiff, it crackles

Extensions to her blond hair pinned
She’s disturbed, returns to England
Whatever happened to Neil Hornick?
Subterfuge of sunflowers!

The colors of blooms are already autumnal
A loitering, itinerant red wound
Jumps onto Sonja’s thigh
Yolks and whites break up, no more reggae

CGP 16: Berlin Poems
by Mark Lamoureux (16 pp. Sewn Binding) $7 ppd.

Written during and around a trip to Germany in 2008, Berlin Poems features ekphrastic poems based on work in art museums in Munich and Berlin—Max Beckmann, Ernst Ludwig Kirchner, Naum Gabo and others.


by Mark Lamoureux

The eye
is a sunflower

pupil aperture
a ring of

the mountain melts upward
towards God

CGP15: Gingerbread
by Geof Huth (12 pp. Sewn Binding.) $7 ppd.

Begun in the excess of the 80’s, finished in 2008 at the gate of our present grief, Geof Huth’s fable of annihilation, Gingerbread, offers a cautionary tale for an age smothered by its own girth. Tumescent with sweet words, Huth’s nightmare of dreamy hovels rotten at the core thrusts its stake true to the right eye of our age of overcompensated executives and shriveled mortgages.

From Gingerbread
by Geof Huth

That night, they slept there beside their father,
dreaming of him (who was there), what he taught
how to bring down one tree through the forest, 
without tearing down another needing
to grow; how to rip the skin from a boar; 
to sing; how to make words like painted stones,
to say that “Even the white right-wrought root
wrought rot” and believe it because all things
fail, and dreaming of their stepmother, not
there (always in purple paisley, a scarf
red with lamb’s blood, her clogs of spalted wood
and toad leather, a shawl of worn boar’s hair,
a ring carved from fired bone, five earrings 
from the tears of turquoise swans, and, around
her lizard’s neck, dropsical, heavy, hung
a burlap asafetida bag full
with rosehip, licorice, marshmallow root,
lemonbalm, mint, and horehound powdered fine
and sifting through fibers with her every
movement: walking or her forearm shifting,
her spasmous body quivering awry,
a cough), and dreaming of the snow drizzling
down onto their quiet bodies, snowflakes
melting on their open skin or slowly
covering . . . .

CGP14: The Love of Freak Milways & Tango Wax
by Kate Schapira (20 pp. Sewn Binding) $7 ppd.

Kate Schapira gives us a gender-neutral utopian porno. Nonviolent slapstick for a new century, The Love of Freak Milways and Tango Wax’s dumpster-diving heroes eke out a breathless place amid the detritus of the disintegrating city. With something for everyone but not much of anything, Freak & Tango get off for your sins trussed high above the overpass.

Setting up

from The Love of Freak Milways and Tango Wax by Kate Schapira

Duct tape?




Beer cups from the benefit?

Check, but next time we should use the rewashable cups.

Okay. Plastic bags?

Um—negative on the plastic bags. Any corner stores around here?

There’s the So-No-Co.

I’ll check their dumpster. Are we missing anything else? What about the feather masks?

I thought you said the rhinestone masks.

No, the feather masks to go with the tails.


It’s okay, honey, we can go up with the rhinestone masks.

I could’ve sworn you said—

Don’t worry about it, let’s just make sure we have everything else. Burned-out glow sticks?


Extension cord? 


Soldering iron?


Good. Great. Fine. I’ll go check the dumpster and meet you at the construction site in twenty minutes. 

Wait, what about the mistletoe?

We decided not to use the mistletoe

CGP 13: Dead-Eye Spring
by Cheryl Clark Vermeulen (24 pp. Sewn Binding. Vellum Endpapers.) $7 ppd.

Dead-Eye Spring offers a bird’s-eye view of being-in-the world. Cheryl Clark Vermeulen navigates the minefield between the self and the universe as a Kevlar-clad ballerina. Never quotidian, Vermeulen’s unheimlich observations consistently surprise and reassure. She is unafraid to tell us what we already knew but were afraid to ask. Do not fear this chapbook, fear this chapbook.

From Dead-Eye Spring
by Cheryl Clark Vermeulen

When I buy the moon

                             -shaped crystal to hang from my window
miracles happen. I’m haunted by your question.
          Do you still believe in miracles?

Roommate says, you don’t sing anymore. 

I wish my shoulders
               were waves. I drink a glass of water,

translate serenity: not a tear-
                                     jerker for the blind.
CGP 12: Looking For Lake Texcoco - En Busca Del Lago Texcoco
by Kevin P. Gallagher Spanish translation by Guillermo Parra (44 pp. Sewn Binding. English and Spanish Facing Pages.) $8.00 ppd.

The author says of Looking for Lake Texcoco:

“These poems are a variation sequence evoking the painting “La Cuidad de Mexico, 1949” by Juan O’Gorman, an Irish-Mexican painter who lived in Mexico (1905-1982). The painting, now at the Museo Arte de Moderno in Mexico City, is a bird’s eye view of Mexico City during its transformation into a modern city. In the foreground, two hands hold a map known as the Santa Cruz map, which represents the colonial city being built on top of the ruins of the pre-Hispanic era. In the top right of the painting two angels carry a Mexican flag bearing the legend "Viva Mexico.”

Alongside Gallagher’s English is a Spanish-language translation by Guillermo Parra, author of Caracas Notebook.

Made in Malinche
by Kevin P. Gallagher

Walk up the stairway sideways because it’s
disrespectful to back or face the gods.

Make rubble from pyramids and altars
to construct huge churches with paintings

of black faced virgins holding a child.
Open up the doors and let them back in.

The weight of it all will make you sink,
make you think about bearing arms,

make you win to lose all over again.
Have a party on a large wall or ceiling

inside a palace, then let history meet
where it will be forced to be on the same page.

When the frescoes crack like colored eggs
we will spill out to be the same as ever.

Made in Malinche
Spanish translation by Guillermo Parra

Sube las escaleras lateralmente porque es
irrespetuoso dar la espalda o la frente a los dioses.

Haz escombros de pirámides y altares
para construir inmensas iglesias con cuadros

de vírgenes negras cargando un niño.
Abre las puertas y déjalos entrar de nuevo.

El peso de todo te hundirá,
te hará pensar en llevar armas,

te hará ganar para perder otra vez.
Monta una fiesta en un gran muro o en un techo

dentro de un palacio, y deja que la historia se encuentre
donde tendrá que compartir la misma página.

Cuando las pinturas al fresco se fracturan como huevos pintados
nos regaremos para ser lo mismo de siempre.
CGP 11: Gary Gygax
by John Sakkis by John Sakkis (28 pp. Saddle-stapled.) $7 ppd.


The tradition of the Bestiarum vocabulum goes back to the 12th century; the tradition of Dungeons & Dragons, that cross between improvisational theater and light bondage, goes back to the 1970’s when it was invented by this chapbook’s eponymous hero. If you grew up in the 70s or 80’s you played D&D, knew someone who played D&D, or stuffed someone into a locker who played D&D. Whatever your feelings about game, there is no question that in their earliest incarnations, its rulebooks were celebrations of bizarre language and bizarre ideas, which undoubtedly had their influence upon poets-to-be who indulged in them. In Gary Gygax, John Sakkis brings bohemia back to its roots in its parents’ basement in this monster manual of beings malevolent and benign. Like an umber hulk, this book is a strange hybrid of disparate parts—snippets of language pulled from the game, from popular culture and from Sakkis’ subconscious. Like an umber hulk, this book will hold you rapt with its four terrible eyes.

by John Sakkis

sometimes known as ratmen
this lurker
is able to take three forms
human, human-sized ratman, and giant rat

belladonna, if eaten
within the hour
will generate a powerful charm

granting slam dunk powers
a Varsity Jacket and
your own sitcom on NBC

Scott Howard in the closet
punch-drunk and groaning
undetectable in melee,

typical of the Pleistocene Epoch
a horrid carnivore
his pelt worth 5,000 gold pieces

CGP 10: When You Have A Rabbit
by Landis Everson (30 pp. Saddle-Stitched.) 28 poems written afterEverything Preserved: Poems 1955-2005. Edited by Ben Mazer. $8 ppd.

Landis Everson was born in 1926 in Coronado, California. When he got to Berkeley in the late 1940s he met Jack Spicer, Robert Duncan, and Robin Blaser and they called themselves The Berkeley Renaissance. Landis studied with Josephine Miles and was the editor of the Berkeley student literary magazine, Occident. Miles called Landis and his friends The Museum School of poetry. Duncan was influenced by Landis and called him The Poet King in letters to Spicer. Spicer admired the ease with which Landis wrote poetry, and wrote to Robin Blaser that Landis was a god for each member of the group. In 1951, while finishing a Master's at Columbia, Landis met John Ashbery who admired his poems and would later print selections from "The Little Ghosts I Played With" in Locus Solus. The subject of Landis's Master's thesis was an imaginary seventeenth century poet called Sir William Bargoth, for which Landis concocted both the poems and the commentary upon them. In 1955, while Karl Shapiro's teaching assistant at Berkeley, Landis had the first of six appearances in Poetry, two appearances in the mid-Fifties, followed by four appearances five decades later. In the late 1950s he was introduced to a younger generation of poets that included Joanne Kyger and John Wieners. In 1960, Landis replaced Robert Duncan as the third member of a Sunday poetry group that was run by Jack Spicer and met in Robin Blaser's apartment in San Francisco. Dictated serial poetry was the order of the day. Landis wrote the sequences "Postcard from Eden" and "The Little Ghosts I Played With," a few months too late to be considered for Don Allen's anthology The New American Poetry. Then the group stopped meeting, and Landis, who was only writing for his friends, turned to painting, and renovating houses. He didn't write anything for 43 years, during which time none of his poetry appeared in print. Then in the fall of 2003, Ben Mazer contacted Landis to inquire about Landis's poems, which Mazer planned to include in a feature on the Berkeley Renaissance for Fulcrum. Over the next three years, the last of his life, Landis would compose over 300 poems, comprising the book Everything Preserved, which won the Emily Dickinson Award from the Poetry Foundation, and Book of Valentines, still in manuscript form. In the spring of 2006 Landis had the first in a series of strokes, which left him incapable of writing any more poems. He took his life on November 17th, 2007.

by Landis Everson

Young Goodman Brown was a window shade.
One side faced Paradise and Hell outdoors
the other furniture, food and shelter in.
But when Faith rolled him up
he saw himself no more.
A spider squeezed out the center and
threaded down. It yawned and opened
its eyes from sleep. All six legs flexed
wide, and like rust it farted spider dust,
which filled the house. We came in
with mops, hexes and vacuum cleaners,
until the house looked clean. But
how to kill a spider, which wasn’t ours?
It was masturbating like hell with every leg. Did
Young Goodman teach him that? Or Nathaniel?.
CGP 9: Daybook of Perversities and Main Events
by Frank Sherlock (24 pp. Saddle-Stitched) $7 ppd.

This chapbook-length poem is comprised of brief, almost-formal 5-line stanzas that read like landscape sketches of internal vistas. Opaque and personal at the same time, this poem reveals the sinews, muscles and machines beneath the skin of consciousness. With a fabulous cover by artist Kris Chau.

from Daybook of Perversities & Main Events
by Frank Sherlock

A beggar from Assisi w/ a bird
on his neck is protected by poems
carved into handles of knives Deep
greens are cut from the patio so
they can be pulled & eaten

CGP 8: Vorticells
by Carrie Hunter (20 pp. Saddle-Stitched) $7 ppd.

Vorticells offers crystallized moments of cognition, Hunter’s responses to 15 San Francisco artists show us the mechanism of tranfixion in pulsing detail. Her word-maps incise ghost images right on the reader’s brain, giving us a kind of synesthetic carnival of moments and non-moments, thoughts and non-thoughts that transcends the ekphrastic continuum and forms a harmonious unit from start to finish.

XV. Accordion Accord (Carbon 9)
by Carrie Hunter 

paper thistles wavering

we are guarded and uncharged

valiant whilst charred

seabodies of the cradled hymn

diamond scars and the babies dream

son as self as shadow as token
not knowing other really is other
cannot be formed, willed, created

we are not shadows of our selves
but selves of our shadows

come fully formed, fully othered

elegant dreams whisper to each other
wishing to be us, to uncurtain themselves

thistle glisten when unshadowed
we glisten when unshadowed

cheap satin drops down slips around
our bodies listen

CGP 7: Johanna Poems
by Ben Mazer (22 pp. Saddle-Stitched)

“Whose poems are these? It looks like the heads of a hundred people made them, yet there is no disjunction, no coil of expression, no tragic dissolution here that fails our understanding. Don Juan, at the end of his life entrapped in a mineshaft, might have called these poems up to us. We need more of these poems, quickly, and we are in a state of distinguished penury now, for only one person, Ben Mazer, can supply them, and however much he provides there will always be gasping for more.”

--Stephen Sturgeon

Indian Summer
by Ben Mazer

This forgotten weather lets me down.
The unexpected slow boat out of summer
burns with color and complete. Missing only
all the words that needed to be said
which yet they are full of mostly now,
the purpled shriveled trees, standing and waiting,
those long low roads where day and evening cross
in an admonition like a longing.

It is a cipher, nothing else will do
to still the fullness in air or cement,
black or blue in shadow, no eye hear
any sign, smiling in the sighing of sorry
flower, laughing in the corn
like fairy tales, telling us what to do.
CGP 6: The Humble Travelogues of Mr. Ian Worthington 
(or notes on the life and letters)
by Sandra Simonds (16 pp. Saddle-Stitched, B&W photographs) $7 ppd.
“These travelogues record realms and entities sprung, spit, spattered, spun from the off-kilter pottery wheel of the author’s subconscious in fully-fledged bursts — organic forms! — of visionary lyricism. Before the reader’s eyes -- and most importantly the ears — a kaleidoscopic dream world is enacted in real-time complete with “velvety mammoths,” a four day stay in a lighthouse, a maze, Mary Magdalene, dolphins, bear cubs balancing eggs on their noses, glass pineapples, and much more. Simonds crafts a world whose phantasmagoria folds over the reader like a strobe-light on Jesus Juice. She is the reincarnation of Artaud, Mina Loy, and Gilda Radner. The Humble Travelogues of Mr. Ian Worthington is a wild stroke of poetic power, and cooler than the Crocodile Hunter (RIP)!”

— Joseph Massey

“To traverse a barreness, this plane, tracking series of condemned, black with melancholy, all hunched and shuffling toward their end. Who knows how figures get made, but imprinted and upright, they fall in line. It’s the fate of flesh: even spirit, even the lightest wit, assumes space. They say reading happens in time, but Sandra Simonds doesn’t believe it. Her travelogues are white meanderings, inklings of worlds to come, a tiny island. This voyage of bare facts, that everything is, that wonders appear, that earth abides, quiets geography. Unpretending itinerary, all she knows is that we don’t is this.”

— R.M. Berry

Prose Poem Written at the OK Corral
by Sandra Simonds

I went to visit the amputee. He lived in a teepee made of stained glass. Precious stones lined the pathway leading up to his teepee. There were gardens in the area mostly gardens of light green moss. There was a forest of glass pineapples. I want to ask him many questions like do you take vitamins and if you do, what sort of vitamins do you take. I also want to ask him if he ever experiences the phantom limb phenomenon. When he says yes, I have a phantom limb I ask him: does it feel pain? or does it tickle the rest of your body. He said he lost his limb in the great war of 44444444444. According to the Kabbalah this was a ìno nonsenseî war. A war among wars.

When the great war of 4445454545454523243 ended many people were walking around the continent looking for their limbs. Prosthetics were invented only much earlier so he was fortunate enough not to bear the shame of a false-limb. The sham of it. He says I am an elitist and if I have lost a limb then I shall not hide from a night of googly eye stars. I lack nothing. I have all of my limbs.

He showed me his pet goat. He said the goat likes to drink saline solution and the goat chews black bubble gum. I was getting annoyed with myself. Would I ever be able to really understand the amputee in the teepee? Strange days. Strange days, friend. The moon is that dried clot of blood on a dried flower in my left pocket. Does the limb ooze cloud?  I took out my ATM card because the teepee had a snack bar and I was getting hungry. Limb, llama, buccaneer, despair. a Ghastly fear!

The amputee would ask me to play a game of pick-up sticks. Notice that his left leg is missing and he wants to play only if a towel is tied around the missing limb. It's okay. I will tie the towel to the missing limb. He says please go outside the fort and pick us a few glass pears so that we can dine tonight and play our games in peace with full stomachs and I will put on some Schubert for the goat. It's the uselessness of milk, I tell you. The red breasts thrown out to Chernobyl sized skin cancer mutts.

In the months that followed the amputee disclosed the much needed information and though he had a violet temper I got all of the facts Jack. He moved into a dormitory-style ìold folksî home and he killed his pet goat in a sacrificial ritual that could only be understood in terms of biblical prophecy. I was moved to a different case. Oh my caseload is heavy! Peking duck, marbles, Joan of Arc.
CGP 5: Face Time
(22 pp. Saddle-Stitched, B&W photographs, mirrored cover)

  (Please note image is a reproduction of the mirrored cover
which cannot be reproduced on the computer screen)

What do Paris Hilton, Al Pacino, Hilda Doolittle, Charlize Theron, Marcello Mastroianni and a quivering, self-eviscerated blob have in common? Find out in Face Time an anthology of poets responding to stills from films. Featuring work by:

Joe Hall, Craig Perez, Noah Falck, Phil Crippen, Matina L. Stamatakis, Francois Luong, Brian Lucas, Nicole Mauro, Jessica Smith, G.L. Ford, Mark Lamoureux, Christina Strong, Michael Carr, Sandra Simonds, John Mulrooney, Brenda Iijima and Christopher Rizzo.

Nesting Dolls
by Phil Crippen
for Paris Hilton

Faux cloisonné blushed enameled
blues and pinks stands a bunny dew.
And in that bunny dew
is a pied hide ibex of
dappled thunder grey and onyx
set with wide flat teeth in an
eggy oval.

And in that dappled ibex
sits a green thistle-perched frog
with gold scuba finned toes
even more webbed than his own
and covered in British green and toady,
with two long red stripes.

And within that British bullfrog
lay a sleeping princess in
Murakami pajamas—
the ones with multicolored monograms
in cyan, magenta, yellow
and green on a field
of asylum white—
just like her horse.

And nestled along with that
fashion-plate princess
is a little pocket watch dog
with great big long plum
and beige ears and little doggy
socks and shoes in sunny
orange and lime hues.

All of these sit unnested,
anesthetized and scattered
on the imaginary area rug
beneath the aviary bed
with loneliness so loud
you can feel the gravity
CGP 4: Caracas Notebook
by Guillermo Parra (20 pp. Saddle-Stapled with Linen binding, B&W photographs)

Guillermo Parra's lyric paen to the city and the dramatically changing face of Venezuela at the beginning of this century is rife with exile and nostalgia. These are poems from between--between languages, cultures, identities and forms. Sparse, objectivist-inspired poems are mingled with direct but enigmatic prose reminiscent, to my mind, of W.G. Sebald. Like Sebald, these poems are homesick for a point of origin which may or may not have ever existed. With black and white photographs of Caracas by Isabel Parra.

From Caracas Notebook by Guillermo Parra


Dark served on rain
Open atrium windows
Discuss your biography
feature film
Your page was shuffled
as the lights begin to glow
across the smaller valley
language will dissolve
air residency patterns

CGP 3: Exertions
by Scott Glassman (20 pp. Saddle-Stitched)

Scott Glassman's first chapbook offers simultaneously alien and quotidian glosses on the perils of existing alone and with others. Scott's take on the prose poem operates by way of arpeggios of contrapuntal phrases threatening to tear the form apart while giving them surprising rhythmic balance.

Ursa Major
by Scott Glassman
It is a peculiarity of man that he can only live by looking to the future— Victor Frankl

then things went south. the color photocopier legging out, its paper jam teaching epic rivers. prose-glut. metropolis. How can I get back to the first. rabbinical height. banks of this Delaware. winter. one generation— "Highs" filling the now. soundspace. Fourteen hundred miles away. next time. come noon, soon. "Less expensive". aren't (doesn't) cannot invade. inventory. numeric postulate (pod) of 2s, 0s. waxing smile. they treat papyrus with. ask the sun to count its proteins (yours). starting from the right margin, moving left, skimming driest elms, distended, infantile organism (no, wrong). that is the moon

is to think beyond our means of the physical. & wasn't it. the flustered dialectic. them. "of course". it is the manner. purpose. pose. have no doubt. knowing. can stop the rain, retract it from the thinning. nervously. threading. blunted. schematic. no belief "but". or in

multi-nuclear. uncareful. carefree. night-bore. as many lakes to my name as fingers. bony Prospero. shrug your waves India-ward. the tepid cell is a parsec lighter from attachments (loss). T- or S- or Z-. prefixes notwithstanding. disables you. an also-ness. seed-full. seeming unlike what the plain. unified happening. of uncommanded body

up-in-the-echo. participle-dry. past-present. plu-perfect. wit of separation. that-if you let go. record the panhandle Amazon of Spokane metaphysic. gleam-driven. weaned. from the mother of mothers & languages. excreted oils operating without censure. license. the second hand. coiling itself. watery phoneme. hour's diameter. you must be "this". expunged (explained). freezing. David. sinking as he was. taken. thirst (yours) replaced. silenced. into us

CGP 2: My Spaceship
(44 pp. Saddle-Stitched B & W illus.)


My Spaceship is an anthology of visual and ekphrastic poetry based on science-fiction images. Featuring work by:

Christopher Rizzo, Garth Graeper, Catherine Meng, Steven Roberts, Suzanne Nixon, Maureen Thorson, Michael Carr,
Erica Kaufman, K. Lorraine Graham, Noah Falck, Stacy Szymaszek, Eileen Tabios, Joseph Bienvenu, Shafer Hall
William Corbett, Jill Magi, Jess Mynes, Ginger Hoffman, Tom Beckett, Scott Glassman, Jon Leon, Nathan Pritts

by Jon Leon

My utopian home
is located in an adirondack
priss parlor. “Quite
the contrary, Dae.”
—our oversight
The surrealist believed
was its own justification.
in my place here at the
colonial site
like the Sago mine
our tubular dissonance
discharge internecine
contractors. This is a hover
bout. Pick a leading literati
deutsche crie,
for the mind is an
elaborate pistol.
Reel them in just
close enough so that
they feel the blow.

CGP 1: Another Night
by Mark Lamoureux (22pp. Saddle-Stitched B&W illus.)

The source text for these poems was stolen from Harold Brainerd Hersey’s book, Night, originally published in 1923. The poems in this volume were accompanied by illustrations in the period style (art nouveau) by Elliott Dold. I have stolen some of these, also, unaltered.

In addition to Night, Hersey also published a book of Cowboy verse, a critical analysis of pulp novels and Helpful Hints on War Risk Insurance, Etc., among others. Dold did illustrations for numerous books and pulp magazines.

I became fascinated by the obsessive vocabulary and thinly veiled sadomasochism of Hersey’s somewhat tawdry original and decided to embark upon a project of “literary conservation.” The poems here include every word and mark of punctuation found in the Hersey originals of the same name; the words themselves have been rearranged by my whim, and in accordance with subjects that differ from the originals. I see this as a way of granting the original texts renewed vigor, allowing them to continue to exist into the future. Also, in keeping with one of the favorite subjects of the original author, the process of creating these was a kind of bondage game; one must compose within the tight fetters of the original works and their own obsessions and compulsions.

by Mark Lamoureux

clasped is cool and currents
The cup

of sweet steam, the stars
are She, arched;

drunken among the dead
Will fill darkness dropping

fragrant for fingers
that mad cup again

has sunken Down in
Her strangely wet lips;

the monotonous moonlight
in her Most molten body

tasted it through Her
The trees They thirst!

he rests under her
Weaving Through the ages;

Listen to still layers
like bolts out of rock:


one in
the glisten,