Also in this issue, Joni Wallaces thicket with swan and blue fist: a video poem
Joni Wallaces most recent work is also online at West Branch Wired www.bucknell.edu/westbranch
Water tower # 5 with money and show
Inside the water towers a 4D Invisible Dog. Ersatz viscera behind plastic peephole window. Studded collar, a leash, the catch-me shoes. Its speaker box stutter-bark talk. to. me. Whats to say? Everythings as we left it. Cutters circling, comeoverhere coins.
Voice, I say, remove dipthong.
A little alcohol, a woolpack.
Vox, I say, look at your features:
tinny rin tin. Gloss-glint of empty.
It comes hard right at me with a ring back so naughty, take of your ____.
So ever the game. A little Bombay in the bomb bay. Its pluvial text.
An I undressing, a red dress, a lung.
Water tower # 7 (after Meret Oppenheim)
How mercurial, the sound room.
Does not know its kind.
Animal charge as stammer-out, tedium drone.
I raise my hand, hind in the hippodrome.
Perfect, I think, though never chosen.
Deer sincere, I say into the notebook.
It hears me too kind.
Ill make a sorry-ticket.
Mer to mur it purrs.
Look, the ghost dictionary:
my white glove, ventricular boughs.
Thicket with sorrow machine, a ready-made
Please is a bittern heard crying.
And strung up and hung round a hyacinth tree,
trouble scuffling there:
a scratch, a slip, a mouse, mouse, mouse-cry.
And top to top it fell, mortar too,
cracked and thuds across the dirty floor
you foot-to-foot. Says linoleum linocut.
Other egg names: cackle. After-scrap.
How sharp, how splinter the ready-made.
A bird-cradled cage.
And you in there, darkdamp.
a motherfucking mole.
Be quiet, dont say one word.
Things broken arrange a hole.
The sun is.
You would have.