Mid Air Refueling


. . . none of that (my personas
they sd pretty or didn't --
but like an air pocket a plane hits
down into the question

She sd we can do it yes but I can't
because of my back, sd it all again
about the surplus chair though
she's not a babbler. We're

a carapace whose antennae
as catch can -- flapping rags their
shadows lovely on the wall -- beyond that

hearts dew
eyes feint

more deductions on
an ill-lit street
the laughing knot in the floor board
giving rise to a Spanish thing, the

breast on the ceiling dis-
solution of another


This rust room --
this heart flying too fast
an eager fox feeding on shapes --
and my seriousness . . . I'm serious
to the bottom of my soul (but not

about this

The lit rotunda and outer
parametric galleries at 20 blocks

conjure a rebus
with outflung arms

perceived by a few like us
in our unshakeable bodies.We

keep sending our impressions
back to their origins -- things
of comfort or desire

written or dropped

red lips
drawn on the window, the cursed

baby bonnet . . .


The white paper is like
eels traveling. It's available
but not proven at that time

that the teeth . . .

At least such are the
clues according to S's theory

of morphogenesis.An attitude

towards the criminal

The figure appears to be a
Cubist cringing.A gorilla wipes
his upper lip
under a weepy eye.It

should come in from the mammal to
the real -- don't you hear it ticking

The branches dark and wet in a garden


Ruthe Gladstone

read the author's Working Notes and Bio

go to this issue's table of contents