Andrei Codrescu, Editor

Laura Rosenthal; Contributing Editor

Rex Rose,
Daniel McNamara, Assistants to the Editor

Andrea Garland, Webmistress

Rex Rose, Webmeister


INSIDE THE CORPSE

THE CORPSE IN CYBERSPACE!

SUBMISSION
GUIDELINES

LETTERS

POEMS
Dick Gallup

APPLE SKULLS
Gerald Burns

THE BOOK OF J AND THE GENESIS REVIVAL
Art Hilgart

MOCKING BIRD
David Morse

RORSCHACHS FROM RAYBURN
Roland Rayburn

FOUR PHOTOS
Chris Felver

THE MIASMA, I
Stuart Stefany

A MAN MISTAKING HIS EGO FOR HIS MOTHER
Mike Finn

A CARTOON POEM
George Nobl

FIVE POEMS
Dave Brinks

POEM
Gwendolyn Albert

LIMA BEAN
Mark Spitzer

 

THE MOON IN HIDING
Marione Ingram

NIETZSCHEAN ANARACHY & THE POST-MORTEM CONDITION
Max Cafard

POEMS
Bill Berkson

DRINKING COCA-COLA ON RED ARMY STREET
Alex Sydorenko

SLEEPWALKING
Curzio Malaparte

THE HOT AIR MACHINE
James Nolan

MEDIA AS CULTURE: THE STATE OF THE FIASCO
Jim Nisbet

WHY WRITE ABOUT THE RROMA?
Roger Parham-Brown

SUFFER THE LITTLE CHILDREN
Art Hilgart

EDISON'S LAST BREATH
William Palmer

CUSTOMER CONTACT, A Reality Poem
John Schuerman

Exquisite Corpse

POEMS BY DICK GALLUP


BETRAYAL 1939 STYLE

In this strange fragmented world blitzed with information
There are few things harder to bear
Than silence, so soon full of mocking voices,
The grating of ideas upon the ruined mind
Like the gnawing of insects deep within a tree
Where words run under cover into phrases
And those phrases become men carrying meaningless baggage
Devouring sense into some mild porridge of rehashed thought.

You came, you saw, you departed
Piteous day clawing at the dawn
Breaking like the last wave on some forgotten stranded beach
Now lost far inland. So silence
Is like a desert, a blank in speech
A hiatus in time, a metronome in Poland
Somewhere that paused, quieted by a hand
As the sound of bombers grew into the whistle
Of bombs falling on the lost future.


BATTY AS THE DOVES THAT FLY

Reflective images were the darling of another age
Perhaps, as the Century turned
Shapes fluttered out of passing strangers
While neighbors at a cafe emitted and endless series
    Of personalities
Quick pulses into the air
That sustained the likes of Ezra Pound

Who saw both before and beyond, it seems, in taste
And, no doubt, drew all his bright images
Out of the fruitful air.


 

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