My Clock Pants (after Vallejo), by Renee Waller

​My clock pants cripple me. I can never get them off even when I try to break them with a hammer. I try to run out of them, away from them, but nothing works. I'm trapped, entangled in a fabrication and no matter how much I grow, I never outgrow them. The sun tries to give me directions to its house. Out there my pants can't exist and then I can be free. Every day for a good twelve hours the sun keeps trying to help me but on the thirteenth hour it gets tired and gives up. I stay glued to Earth waiting for the sun to show up again. My clock pants limit me and often scare the sun away. My clock pants know I'm trying to get rid of them and they can't stand the idea. Jupiter helps my pants by putting me to sleep so the pants can grow tighter around my waist. I desperately shoot a bright red bullet wanting to pierce the fabrication but it doesn't work. I'm trapped in time.

project/installment 3. by Yea Weon Kim

fragment

I am a stargazer
I ride on the wings of angel's prayers
And craft works of art from angry tirades
I carry my heart in a slingshot
And wrestle with the aggression of others

- Tyffany Richards

photo by Thom Hart

Poem by Tyffany Richards

Corporate Office

He beat her last night

So when she came to work

Sunglasses on, head lowered, hands folded

We knew something was wrong

But no one wanted to question

And she wouldn’t say a word

She just stayed silent the whole time.

Just took her sunglasses off

And was oblivious to the whole office’s gasp

She was raped last night

And she went home and told him, but he didn’t believe her

He wouldn’t let her get an abortion

So nine months later

The office celebrated the new child’s life

While she sat in a corner

Tears staining her face

Dripping mascara marks

Dark streaks on her pretty face

He killed her last night

And we all attended her funeral

And gave praise for what a wonderful person she was

And cried tears for her

Even though in actuality

We didn’t care

We knew nothing about her

She meant nothing to us

She was just another girl in the office

artwork by Miriam Canut

Poems by Thom Hart

(The Blonde)

Dangerous times

Especially to be

A blonde of seventeen

Or so

Surrounded by

Business associates

And drink.

(I thought not)

Did you do any work today?

I thought not.

Did you stimulate your mind today?

No, that doesn’t count, be quiet.

Did you care about anything?

I thought not, you’re far too apathetic.

So. What did you do today?

(The wind)

the trees dance

fields move

leaves float

waves crest

and the wind,

well it sings ‘round my house

(Venus, my lover)

I made love

To Venus last night.

In a dream the goddess came to me.

She said, I will show you ecstasy

And I followed her. Her face

Was never the same, and

As I recall she towered over me,

Some barbaric Amazonian,

But she was beauty,

And beauty was she,

And lust,

And I thought of all the things

That could have been,

And will be.

The Introduction to the Riley Anthology, by Ian Riley

The Introduction to the Riley Anthology seems to be in essence a history lesson. It provides a background for the stories which follow. It allows for a fuller understanding of those stories, an idea of the motivations behind them. With these ideas, with knowledge of the motivations, we are better able to read and appreciate all that is behind these stories and letters. I like using non sequiturs to end paragraphs.[i]

The creation stories are certainly an interesting take on the matter. Juhwertamakhai[ii], the god figure, does not hesitate in the least bit to “drop the sky” on creation when he deems it necessary. The idea of the great flood is certainly present here, but the multiple occurrences seem unusual. They suggest a god who is not easily pleased. The final creation implies the importance of the coyote, a direct result of the landscape the people call home. Dolphins are quite intelligent animals.

Another creation story includes the idea of a dark, lower, realm. The monsters of this realm include a large turtle who comes forth to carry woman and earth on his back. The turtle grows to the size of a great island and the woman’s offspring grow to be the good mind and the bad mind. The good mind creates humankind along with many other things which the humans consider to be good. Conversely, the bad mind creates things objectionable to humans.[iii] In the end, the good mind triumphs over the bad mind, but the bad mind retains power over death. Jerry Seinfeld has had quite a successful career.[iv]

The letters from Columbus are an interesting look into what he has to say, a look into what he actually thinks he has discovered. His use of the word Indians to describe the natives confirms his belief of where he thinks he is. When he talks about the naming of the island Espanola, he reveals his real imperialistic motives. This ties into the other creation stories because it too is a story of creation, but this time it is the creation of a new empire in the western hemisphere. Beware Jimi Hendrix as the bell tolls one.[v]

[i] And long walks on the beach.
[ii] His brother’s name was Steve.

[iii] Like Monday mornings.

[iv] He makes several million $ per re-run (The Internet).

[v] He’s very friendly at 4 o’clock though.

project/installment 2. by Yea Weon Kim

Poem by Mebane Robertson

This Stupid Dig

I've been out here out on the summer working the same map --

The topology of tribes, beads, bribes, and brides.

It was adequate, where I went and first ran into in a class

My truest love, granddaughter of the joint head of staff

Dab in the middle of Nam.  I bought her a ring of blue pearl

With a tinny little diamond set center.  Even though that's all history,

If you ever see this in a conspiracy documentary, please

You meant more than St. Charles Street to me.  But she's fazed,

Another face laid in memory.  Should we fronting all this to go on?

The pairings, and vintages that show rare spices had been imported.

Black labs with their wild pink tongues, the site overseer walked

Between the twine that was my love's pirouette and the laudatory

Trading of fourths the band took to please the challenged visitors.

Ho.  I'm getting this wrong.  The dogs were when we were in an undisclosed

Location.   I guess I'm writing to please a friend away.

Someone unlike me who prefer morse to ouija.

And pearly late October skies.  Things live (and die) by schedule, at least

In the looking back.  I have been given some gifts by friends I love.

And I have been given likewise by enemies far, I thought, in the offing.

And I fold my hand sometimes, and ask that this be good, goofy enough.

thanks to Mebane for this poem. Read more by the same author here. 

project/installment 1. by Yea Weon Kim

Poem by Veronica McStocker

Lost.

Have you ever been so lost,

That you don’t know where to go?

Not in the sense of

Needing directions on the road lost,

But the kind of lost when you aren’t really sure who you are.

Well,

Maybe you know who you are.

Or who you’d like to be.

But you aren’t sure of how to get there?

Everything is so complicated,

Sometimes I sit and think.

Who am I?

What am I even doing?

It keeps me up at night,

This constant worry that I won’t be

Everything that will make everyone proud.

I won’t live up to everyone’s expectations,

I can’t make everyone happy.

Sometimes I even try to see myself from outside.

If I didn’t know me, what would I think of me?

Would I think that I am the perfect daughter?

Would I think that I am the perfect student?

Am I a perfect citizen?

Would I be proud of me?

I don’t know.

Am I even good?

I know I try,

But is that good enough?