8.03 / March 2013

[wpaudio url=”/audio/8_3/Perez.

SEQUOIA GRAFFITI Disappointed love was found on walls in antiquity graffito (“scratch”) annul-graphy disappointed love was found on walls in antiquity graffili (“incised inscriptions”) omit-graphia disappointed love was found on walls of antiquity graphein (“to write”) erase-graphy * slip the space between mud Brideveil Falls I CUM ALIVE! play on prison slip the space around

[wpaudio url=”/audio/8_3/Sawers.mp3″ text=”listen to this story” dl=”0″] 1. Take a flying leap Find the highest window of the highest building of the highest spot around – go there. Wrestle it open, cough at the dust that stirs, lean outside with your face in the wind and cold.

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[wpaudio url=”/audio/8_3/Rowan.mp3″ text=”listen to this story” dl=”0″] You can’t just forgive yourself for the horrible things you do to yourself and the things you do that harm other people, though you might want to, though you wish you could. I vandalized the parking lot in high school.

[wpaudio url=”/audio/8_3/Olson.mp3″ text=”listen to this poem” dl=”0″] Muhammad Ali been noticing lately an increase in animals rising up. An increase in animals acting like they are fed up with being ate up. Animals acting like people in the way and the time has come for us to move. Porpoises raping people.

I I flick the little banister and cause it to quiver. I enter the attic and unleash a dust storm. I fashion a chandelier from tape, half a doily, and string. I ignore that it drapes onto the kitchen table and chairs. I contemplate the dishwasher. I leave it alone.

Wear latex gloves. All day, all night, one week. To Rainbow Grocery, the Amnesia Bar. White, too pure, preferably. Let them believe that your hands, if outed, would suppurate yellow sores. It’s 1995. San Francisco. You ridiculed the plans for your neighbor’s helicopter pad: a bulls-eye or a medcross on the undraining roof.

  I hated my parents. I loved my parents. In the way of teenagers worldwide, though then, since I was a teenager, I strode my capital I self-important/conscious/absorbed down the gritty rubble of Rome Street like the star of my own music video when I had yet to write the song itself.

Arcadia [wpaudio url=”/audio/8_3/Cain1.mp3″ text=”listen to this poem” dl=”0″] Bodies close, backs in the dirt, safe behind our zippered door. I grip your wrist & stare where the tent beams meet. We hear the trees cry. Then we are rustled awake – my god, you say, someone’s out there.

[wpaudio url=”/audio/8_3/Jones.

Crocodiles in Real Life [wpaudio url=”/audio/8_3/Backer1.mp3″ text=”listen to this poem” dl=”0″] The zoo did not prepare me. Captive crocodiles are dry. You see the whole reptile: bulk, scales, teeth. You know they can kill you, but the cage keeps you calm.