TO CURE NATURE

WITH SCIENCE

(A GNOEM)

byEric Elshtain,Gnoetry 0.2,

and Eighty-Two OtherBeard of Bees Poets

edited byRachel Burman,

Eric Elshtain,and Shannon Frech

Beard of Bees PressNumber 100! · March, 2014

ContentsPreface ii

Section One: Sadness Should Be Corn Starch 1

Section Two: “A cigarette in bed I find” 12

Section Three: Sun Eats the Earth After Storm 24

i

Preface

Beard of Bees began in 2001 as a repository for the results of experiments withGnoetry—a poetry generating software developed by none other than Beard ofBees publisher Jon Trowbridge, with Eric Elshtain buzzing in the backgroundshouting encouragements and giving suggestions. The earliest publications wereinitial forays into gnoetics, including those of exhaustive late-night field testsduring which local poets and non-poets alike would sit at Gnoetry stations andplay at composing and compose as they played (one local poet was driven todeclare Gnoetry to be “Nintendo for Poets!”)

At the same time as these explorations into computational poetics were underway,Elshtain was in the midst of his turn as poetry editor of the Chicago Review. As hehad cultivated some relationships with poets through that editorship, he decided,what the hell, let Beard of Bees also publish electronic chapbooks of poetrywritten by mere humans. And so, according to a sometimes irregular scheduleof publication, Beard of Bees has reached chapbook humber 100!

In an effort to honor the dual function of Beard of Bees Press, as publisher ofmachine, human-machine, and human poetries, editor Elshtain uploaded the eachof the first 99 chapbooks in his Gnoetry engine and asked the machine to renderthe works, through its magic of statistical analysis and system of penalty/reward,into 100 fifteen-line stanzas, each line consisting of anywhere between five andten syllables. Then, Elshtain and Beard of Bees factotums Rachel Burman andShannon Frech pored over the material, looking for clues, hints, and threads.Breaking the material into rough thirds, each took a pile of stanzas home andmade light to medium edits, finding arguments for changes on the punctuation,word, syntactical and grammatical level—sometimes, even on the poetical andhistorical levels.

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The end result pays homage to the wonderful words poets from around the globehave gifted to Beard of Bees Press — words that the Press has been able to gift tothe public at large. Beard of Bees sincerely thanks all of the poets who have askedfor their works to be freely distributed across the Web. This gnoem is dedicated tothese poets and the workers in the hive hope the poets take it in the spirit in whichit was derived: with wonder and gratitude.

Beard of Bees also thanks their dedicated fan-base in Tallinn, Estonia: they hopethe six of you have enjoyed all of the chapbooks over the years!

H. Lincoln Hardwick, PhDDes Moines, IA2014

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Section One

Sadness Should Be Corn Starch

edited by Eric Elshtain

But on this side, the Hardy home wasbrimming with excitement.The sun reflectedfrom a light sleeperand the window sill.Swinging my bare foot above the ear bud,the bony head, the others whowere not like lunatics.The motion of seeing taking shapeof a large hotel in Underwater, Scotland.

The willow grabbed for designerKleenex. She thought he should take thought,and the boy the most effective writing.He admired its cozy fit as hecame into the mouth of thirst.If you find yourself over thesame result, it must be broken.You complain, alone in thecentral stairs. Her imagination willonly be as wide as the fall of stone.

Shook towards Earth, we will be shadeagain. Great ice comes apart,a little fever in between the prospectyou could have built.Entertainments fail, bathed in a beakerof iron knives, the only good togo to the heavens. The bulbousmatch head flared up and went to seaUp on the culprit, sometimes it startswith a sense of already being

a lawyer, going to continuewriting bout a living, gone starved,still less in their good grace.No one touched. The right way.Such portions as the only one handand my robe plucked

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out my body to see Halstead Street.Girl, she sobbed outa generated nature in their drink,the last word flavored like dung and meantime,

I cannot see my left handis missing from my eyesto sneak off. Sing a song andstreamers flying, beating drums.The old museum, life, war or fraud.He holds up a crackdown on orders froma den of ‘em, you know,not bred to fight tooth and nail?In the liquid stillness of the court,I have the desire to have, to have this

shared vulnerability—maybe they have been a realthing. Returning cautiously, rain fellinto the outfield, the people of the soilaround the massive throne again.But when I believe, the angryegg per plaque on the youth, uponmy legs, waving long black arms, mine arms,mine arms, I could split the ocean,all the rest of it, and I am

busy assembling the list of charactersso natural, so delightedwith the tide. Bruckner did not seethe occipital ridge of us.I press my closed eyes with my eyesto remind me that same sad and slylook of loving, the silencein this hierarchy of upper and lower teeth.Light, we are about to hit the wrongman who is dependent upon another.

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You should ask: what kind of vanity.Come on, you and I found the moon,a kinder note of prudence behind the house.I waited in the river out of a human soul.You, you, you would, you say that you were setupon by great walls at the endof lady madeline withinthe bounds of the will betting on invitationand plunging his retreat.Time to pull against the door of darkness.

Is your phone working? “Things are alright,”I said “the news?” Redoubt says thatsadness should be corn starchin the mold of primeval Earth.Ideas of work change and there, all the timeto time, perhaps in a red executive.His room coming alive, he wrote these pages:“Hen bit June—fee the towels clean—sun-light light my hands— over the state in thisoccasion, shook them—.”

However high hat this vicarious leisure,it dipped into a pig at night.” Tonyhit the pavement in baseball clothes? I stand asideimpatiently, then, unlock the door.Frederick Peck, Sr., died Septemberof running through sprinklers.He wanted to sing a songand the lowing of a down.The dog starts for the headnow, on the basis of memory.

You were born, child, a Chevy drove bythe body with five gills;five children and mother are seekingtwo suspects in him. He owes various shopkeepersand members. The eyes watch, watchthat single bird on the landing.I face south at noon, place

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my elbows on my age. Niceknot, keen sight, and a trusty fellow.Test the voice of his home;

recite her favorite lies;set the watch and coins pressedinto the kitchen, spic and span.The deferment of judgment from her nowhealthier half, the creature squattingup the incline along the ground.What should I blame, girl,for his hotdog at a time helooked back again? Thegay? Let us delay, no time to think he is

the greenland whale, the night alonein God, creation, eventhus, in their destruction, ashe shot up in the rightparts of my people under me.A mind delighted with the lions’ game.Moreover I will consume all thatwild mob took in the cove: the bread, hiswhiskey trucks. “Lord, your hips and lips,” hereplied, “the universe requests it.”

Opposed to facts by moonlight a vibrant girlhad gone farther. But the leaveson the shadows of the eyes!And he had written books, print.When the explorer was on the map.You have deserved these words, but intheir faith I would haveliked the world made as a long, lowtree until the hand implement, missing,could lead. I wanted to live,

you must leave. Waiting roomof actual dread, leaving the outside objectsin you something that is doubtless rooted

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in relative economic comfort and the other one,he could have been so nasty to me.In fact the credit column, wind, and light, we struckand sparked. Quantity: now everyonecan relax, write that poem about Spring,life, the gods, and quickly bow to their roomsaware of life or breath.

Now I seem to have to work todayfrom the eyes!A lady who escorted usdraws a small chunk of beer onher part. I know he could reflect if asked to—and Marcella exercised the singlered line and the eyes?I have the name of hisgolden haired hawkeye,he writes to his brain.

Your legs, give it a singular mannerand quench the fire; my assistanttucked in his heart packedwith string for dropped pennies.Her eye sipped off his fluidsour lives stripped of a thick piece ofthe quickest way to conveyhuman existence toanyone beyond the cottage.You got it crawling around in my eyes,

upon the land of the eyes!That young lady on Earthis painful to do this; hewas an iron bar. The translationin the deep brandy bottle upthe stairs, my voice forkedin two or three,cowboy belt across my hips,oh smile. I thought I heard you twice thefirst quarter,

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and an official at a countyfair said, “Darknessbeyond the termination shock;two, a heavy step could havebeen burned, bombed and trampled on.One of the feminine gland, fearnot the point of life would tend to luck—luck, or a horse behind the wheel,and beauty all at oncewhile waiting for his meal.

The man pounded a live crow with his fanny.A second stringergave a sucking sound. WhenI press my closed eyeswith my fingers. My unclemeans to make talk when I am a woman,and propose. Then littleChandler took the turns, we were all in hisunearthly screech in this unnervedthe gospel of revolt.

Nothing on the telephone and cockatooshall say that you should spill someon your frosty digits. Or could you,like a knife fallen to the poopin order to enlighten me, headded, pointing to his brain. You will heara public speech when a man walked into the workplaceof a signature. Beneath Mauna Kea a herd of horsesis beginning to burn a hole in the shade,the thrill of running through sprinklers.

In addition, the workers of the money and drugs,the rise of people who aredead from suicide. WhenI made a string for more of myselfin flecks and tatters of fleshthe duchess was expectingthe president. Should the government

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return us again to the west sidethree gates shall be hours late for Paul,shining in the iron plates, in bathtubs, in their results.

The slopes emptied of light came sweepingoverhead. Bruckner did not know whatis larger than the slender thread,a deep society, the closed eyes.He is lost? Northbound lanesof the field to hunt the horns scatterthe craftsmen. I suppose burlapis fair material for the sackingof lucid sleep. Thy nature,with a kvetch, surprised with a verse.

His glasses spread across and trueyes, over the eyesof the leisure class.Our propensity is this feeling grim.Is the source of blood.They believed they were filled, in duereward. Dimension saves the daywithout a word of God,moving faster than my eyecould follow the youth upon

the doctor. He may havebeen previously ascertainedby law. I’ve breathed hard times,hard times! My manager explodedright on camera. Burnishedclay of hands seekingrocks to scrape with coolsticky spray; orange torn opento the well, the culprit isbehind the wheel,

and the August dampas a man crossing an empty stagesays, “Look, buddy.” Naked

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feet promise enterprise,as a matter of devices.Meanwhile, what is it comingdown out there, a sudden turn,perhaps a double stream upon the eyes.A large pool of words, presented toher from before others said: “Well, they’re

drinking honey wine and a lightother than Earth they spree across.I’ve read this like the one who heard it,the explanations were becoming shades.When taking the apple, what is the cut among you.This is just a couple of days, thereare no substitutes for a decent mealwhere the scheme of raceand industry is the idol of others.Its mold should mute idols. I am a poet,

I believe it only when you arethe letters of Calvary. They’re drinkinghoney wine and laugh themselves to death;what were their opinions on the smooth skinof her thought’s descending head.I had the greatest scene aboutthe boat where nothing better aim rememberedreal shadows. Dressed as a means of social worth,I hinted intentions werea glorious monument to fantasy and rage.

Giving into the soil,no gnomes for me.Frank and Joe hopped into the soft Englishdistance. The sailor’s eyes,New york, surrounded by a grain of sugar,rubbing the skull of my chest,sags inward. The sound of the treaty:their talk about fallen clotheswas suggestive. Each of our childhoodsis tainted by the way.

9

Upon his flock and malicious willwe become citizens who live between three words.If your feet of sandstand away from the sheen of the futurethen the moon, where spaceis mostly empty, thereis a ghost gave you the first fourteen yearspast. They meet for dinner to showthem how a piece of meat and eyesis another love:

O! how a kisser revives pore girltheir hands made straight along surfacesshimmy. Who will bring disc jockey?I stood there in the form of the moon, confirmedin grace, her voice, fine, jolly fellow! Theywere nothing like their parents, who were.It was always there. We will prevail, oh down,I cup my ears with my fingers and hearno humming sound is absent when Ilaughed. She saw the whole affair.

I watched how her right reckonedby distance, followed by the biggestand brightest stars, could be seen,now and unaware you’re tossingalcohol into the hill side. The eyeswere with our small midwestern mindbetween the sting of what onceexisted had survived and was now.How many prophesies and close calls helpthe girl take her children shopping

with her to tryand assure the hero of the eyes;the doctor: Alfred, Alfred dear.“The blackout is involved in whatis the case,” replied the clerk.What would a stone balloon workwith, an ocean of the eyes

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The hours on the far sideof the biggest stores in the land.They deserve respect, suddenly

thinking of you.Deep charm with blue, blue wavesover the area of imported goods,a good sign. I crave that he isnot cold on purpose, and hehad been due at the bottomof the sky. How are you.So they get credit for good work but pass offmistakes onto those under them. To thecigarette in bed I find. . .

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Section Two

“A cigarette in bed I find”

edited by Shannon Frech

A cigarette in bed I find

it hard to make talk when I amat a paper loss. The game, themethod in which the sameresult, under the same day each week,is to couture as culture isto sense what overly ripecheese is to bread. He pointed to ajob. The men of her heart werebetter; those who were tryingto change the waterin the present. I cannot speakfor the slaves. His

feet? I walk aday. Is rhythm your realm ofpraxis? What about the discourse of the bones, madeof polished steel. Thesystem of conventions, a history that seemed soplanned. Many signs of rules:rain and wind had nothingto do in a chair, a bathtub. These occupationsI know of. A thin beard. My

breath feels warm and even now transferreditself. That morning a head,however inferiorin spirit, filled. As to implore themercy of the people inhis pocket, he pulled outthe mirror of the eyes of her new life.As always, news of thestorm, the brandy bottle, the opened doors,his feet. I open, wide awake enough. Hewas still a symbol, but I was a placein this unnerved

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novel. I can avoid the usualinterest. He never leapt tall buildings, buton his feet? Get used tocare, for fear he would haveasked. The reason for this isthe core; the surface isdry. I did not walk through the moment,and the bare horizon? Skinas white as snow and hair as black asnight, four girls bursting enigmatic bonds.

Civilizationscrawled across the floor. The sheriffbent down to hear it sing.My eyes wasted no time for themassacre. My hand turned green asduckweed, far away. I do not likeputting out to helppeople in this country of origins.A sweet odor shed a blurredradiance to the source of

it. Be courageous,be vigilant, and be aware of your hand.The poor, unhappy, too highoverhead in our lives. No needfor sunlight and green space. In that direction, searchingamong the many people that were here.They become less funny. Digginghis whiskey as you would have done: one footupon the whale, between the word.A slow, black and white book which they servewith these words ceased to love morethan extensions of good.

At last, I’ve found a meannessto rid from these signs.Time to think wherethe children grow. Thisis the remembrance. The air,

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the unhappy father, hishands. The time. I intend tolet me tell you; upon the waves pouncethe cliffs. Mangoes were in the righttrademark wilderness. His feet arenimble and light. She follows him with thedying of the rock. Our proof. I never did.

They didn’t say that they may melt andI disagree with this decision.But the echoes of the league sway you,the official called out, the third proceeded to sortout our way of responding. Monks of plaster hadcrumbled and my robe plucked frommy four limbs holding a teaspoon of saltflavored with bullion makesthis faraway paper

crackle. In this way,boy, girl will be your love. Comeout here, I should have said,or I would have pulled them out, dressed in theircola. The monster lifts fromthe cavities of the ear and commands drinka breakthrough. Weeds and salt pits shallpossess the remnant. It is amongthe lowing of a river, the most deliciousand looked for in america. Were wemen enough to suggest that such details

would be thankful for their position. Ralph,a well dressed woman sittingalone in the bay. A dozenyards away. Pulling a load–quite possible,eventually, of course–of her only treasure,Theodore. With merry thoughts she took a little heart out,thou art thou only got a room for. The path of the rock.The youngest boy of the century paintedon postcards. Of course, thefurther I love, o my journey,I love none but you.l

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In love, the blind introvert of day gave untothine sometimes derived.I had nearly been misconstrued a woman. Onlythe secrets of heart must ace par. The eyesare open. All you have todo is as blacks once did.Fog currents mediate the marblearched train station. A cheap coat is undone. He jogsaround different countiesin the conveyance of the first draftof an ode. For he was

the sea, and a long coal trainthrough the mountains andhistory until the last turn. Silk slippersto soothe the blistered burn. Thefire circles the city. Nicescience fiction plot you’ve buried us in.The newspaper is the same in theplay of light–an element.The highwaythe sisters get caught upin is a stifled shriek. When thinking of our

desert, Jane snuck up from behind the eyesof a dying lamp. I hesitate to ask herto name five things people do totop that. With a glance overthe next decade, every year,the young man is so dense thatheads and arms seemed entangled andwill never leave. She had done itto watch the television and answerthe phone. We swear revenge uponthe love of chambers

and never say that. The eyes we’re notacting on. He was still standing there,smiling at the cove. You love him a wayout. He is a way of responding, ofa million, billion yards. He showed

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me the given name,Prince Andrew, with asoft purr. The churchis lush frosting. I wantedto sing as several figures

melted into the sea. But one must wonder whatis packed into that state. And though we had to know youclearly, that receptive childlike fear had lips. Then you areyo:. a girl, smiling and thrusting outher breasts, fetching cardinals,so to speak. In this cupboard,the leaves will be the objects that they seem,

presented to the species. Haven’t youfucked up your English? The last islandwith torrential rains in the end waswrong, except in the rightway. They replied thatthey were buried under an embankmentthat collapsed during ahighway inspection. The dogs werefed. Alone, sometimes alone,sometimes alone, thelesson. Through my glasses I saw a bird.He listened with a touchof Pennsylvania.

The hand folds into the glowingcave of its neck. This was not soimpossible. They askedwhich rocks seemed darker, and she wastired. The questions are the emptyglass. She has other things she mightconsume. The dogs, the airthinned with the whip. I must sound sometimes like a madopera, the camp melodramain the house of crime. The artist

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was dedicated to debt. Just then, the windows move. Ihear a previously unheardpulmonary wheezing. Incontroversy, greatproficiency. The crowned darkness spreads out in theflowers of her heart. His new friends:Henry David Thoreau, war, andhis mother. A river, the blackout.Archaic, predatory humanlife. The island was a triumph of

forensic skill. I sometimes go through a broken homeand she, with an onion peeland life altogether soprofound. In thiscondition I seta guise of a gallery white, thegreen paper as fast as the menin the automobile. We turn our attentionto god during the planning stage. I stand

on the mere idea of soil.The leader of the two, inthe midst of your bribe, places a fewvague suggestions ofthe eastern theater. At least some existencefor the sprawl. I decided tosurprise his lovely wife. To be perceived, inother words, a good island!Sky from nowhere that

takes everywhere, what poor sense soon sweptso many leaves.Not sorry to have meaning, thestores were nearly parallel tothe species. We weresorry, but urged him to list it for sevenhundred dollars. Day from nowherethat takes everywhere, who was it thatbore me up in the right

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way? The light in other climes saysnothing of logic and scones.Great animals circulate air.

He died to keep hiseyes, sense urgency, sing a few notes. An object shapedlike a man walks into abar, orders a cold one. Behold, theeffort of remembrance. But even so,his age is not a symbol of thewater. Another shift thatway and an afflictioncuriously strikes.The translation: in cement cubiclesthe top chamber is for songs and prayers and blinking theeyelashes. When are

you going? Right away!Ambiguity is the color of danger, the road the boysscanned in confusion. Allthe sins, the sons of a dictionary that they knew by heart.The power in your mouth. Below, theman and his gang blow up big trees.This particularuse: describing a place in the

next four years, an, anapple for the vanished sphere.I had to know how to findlife beyond the double doors. Mariathought of the sky. Chet boughta gun from K-mart. He ranted at an interiorand anterior edge, whereyour men go on like that when they haveattained such an obvious threat. To consider whethershe was just standing there, below the dressbeside the sill. The only

man who sees in the trustyiron palms all feelings, in this

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new era of greater politicalautonomy, died friday. A womanwas repeated. I was on the floor like adrop in the caboose of a goodly house.Someplace florid, a woman. I finished speakingof this sequel to her. New friends wanted admiration.Yes, nuclear energy and I stumble backwards into the

little door, his mindaccomplishes something like the moon, a kindof blind, white zone, a question of forms. Theproctor is alwayslooking back. Dearest victor,one could say watch thelions and the dogs! But Iwas a ton of fiber againstshades of blue. Some are far off,visible only as a box ofrocks, dumb as apicture missing from my point.

I’ve forgotten all the earth ispainful to me! I find she hadmercy on her latesttip: if out of wind, become you.Without you, who? The question,for a sacrifice? Beyondthe grave, I must make trades to tradeaway. And now? A rich uncle leavesyou a long reserve of bloodin the gravity of the south side. Wow,a kiss stolen in pallid light by theebb. This confusion began

with a rat cage, doctorssaid. The sun was low, and words seemedto come back. O, here we still stand, paying moreattention to god than this quillthat here writes. A lake surges withantibiotics and new wine. Your hands rise and

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beat against what stealsinto you. A blindman walks into a bar,starts a tab of cold air.

Even you, you andyour tiny, sneezing ambitions. The eyes,I suppose, upon the release of light,preceded that of the eyesof a day; his days. Hisdays are like the moon. Thelife which so long ago,actually, was not what we usedto be: rough, with people unaware. The plantiff’steeth escaped, but only after inflicting trenchantwounds. There was no sign, in any case, backedinto or out of

scruple. I stare at thegates (within a mile) and theindescribable light whichinforms them. Charlie Parker said,should I press forward or fallback? I left the marriage at hisside alone, afterhearing of the sphere in whichsuch a question of forms. There is no place forus.

I breathed the spirit of salvation into the soilaround the orchestra floor so the girl could live.We are not concerned with building on.Here he showed a lack of thesame. Wearing matching shorts,he asks the bartender,do you not look in my eyes,beyond the windows? I pause again. The eyes

were like you in China, but zipped up,expecting a kind of great and mighty ship.

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I put my crushed feet back together as theyclimbed even higher.Is the physical world really aware of life? You haveto wait for me. The very room where I stand asideimpatiently is green and concerned. Do rare selvesmeet? His delta makes more sense than thesmell of ozone. A hot sun

had never seen such swarms.The train went west until it wandered uponthe pumping maroonviews. The heart is restored by looking only at bark.I shall remember many romances. Such eventsoccur on averageonce per year. Years are dangerous in the mail. Crossingon ships whose names are like a tender fire, weleapt to social rise and beat against the thin metalmembranes. We were just standing there in

a blinding sunlight. Two boys emerge from thegrass! O no, we have a man,with furry, new meanings.My palm is smearedwith swollen liver evermore!She lit her cigarette. The poor cannot seethe empress stab. In addition, she wasa shadow. So, absent, Iwas a way out

of hand. Any minutenow, something will keep them behindyour back through straining ortwisting. Besides,until the moment all thepeople all awake in social functions,arms are open. Infact, the day and allits blisters slip into my bestthoughts and I cannot speak for grebe. When themould moves in, they will come and will have written.

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A cable hoists the eyes, fills them with contentment.

I rose to his chest, still offended, maybeeven more grotesque than before. Thebushes shook, swayed theirscarlet bodies. They come galloping outof mind, appearing in the urine! For once, let the voicesdefine what you have, except in LosAngeles, Pershing Square, and displays.He hears the past decades, threatens towash them away with heat. They were neverreally written there.

It would solve many problems.

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Section Three

Sun Eats the Earth After Storm

edited by Rachel Burman

I rose to his chest.Am I still offended? MaybeGrotesque, theirscarlet bodies. They come galloping outof mind. For once let the voicesdefine what you have. Picks usup outside of the eyes?Any other climes! He hears the pastdecade, threatens to wash it away.They were never written there to augment.

It would solve many problems. He gaveother century books, print.Nothing is more impressed bythe first victim, a result of your handswung through the pauses of thetombs. And hunt a partridge in the maze ofyour bribe. Get it done. By half past two ismuch too late! Asked as she struckthe note of god warring with his shirt pocketand fondled around for some essential

innovation. No one walks there now: forperhaps, the proctor dips his hand backwardto the other corner, waiting at the world to getout, out of nowhere. The words. Andthere, exhilaration. Boy let not thisheavy chance, dearest coach,as a part conforms. Every good sonnet islike my sweat, a final effort. The suneats the earth after storm. Encounter is

a rope casting its shadow across wood;the kind who will occasionallygrab a house, the wife. A crystal globeas it were, a cruise line. For all thatis, in such a good working, nowind. Translate into words ordata. Be afraid lord,

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nearly knocking and thoseyou’ve met. And its directeffect; the rapid growth. Even they

have been astonished to arrive. Thoseyears ago. Sand falls backinto my ears lie flat against myleg so we may now provide.Explains his name he put forth the faintsounds of former selves. By travel,I think everything for the ones who diedin a shroud preventing contact. Truststeals money from the stepson.A deathly

joy in life. Say nothing of clouds.The rain stops. And the rush of songsung true but with an air of bluestill banks shimmering fromwater. And on deck, girl that admiresyou. A second girl finds those menand a donkey. My closed eyestry to forget the dream of entering awomb and falling asleep whenI turned. What makes all that: the sun.

Put the belt of Orion, most severe,between the campaigns.I planted a tree. There is somethingyou ought to keep reminding. we arepractically flying! Thethings that have killed an ox:the administrationwas sincere. Return not tothe extensive grounds themselves,lovers. Yes, an abrupt theology;

you made me say you saythat they strongly believedthe work of a quaker was a call.

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Frightened to spend the night when shesays a measure of that whichprecedes an heir to a thousand crystal facets.That they were nearly parallelto the thrice plowed field. Maybeshe can cry any time. Is a persontoo foolish to suffer every stage

of thought. A group may pour oilover the eyes! However,dancing hands, promised gracefully to partthe skin. Only gottenas far as ingenious can go. Smoke keepsreturning a little fever, a notuncommon thing; the same thing.Mother, caring and supportivegrandmother, sister orcousin? Magnetic

pulse across the desert.Everything can shift, move, lower.The public work in a latergrowth of life. A white handdraped around my head had beenthe same each week. I’ve only gotten asfar. No dreams crossed somuch time to cure naturewith science. Sing a song anddance. After looking at the summit. You’re the

cold gas, my nose inclines to theloom. The grim on a tenorsaxophone. Tell where you havegin they drive intothe ocean, and I willbe with god. The eyesof the old maid. The bottomof the country you’ve called. Because theyjust collapse. Pull yourself together ifyou find me. So long. Explosion.

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He held me. When a manwalks into a statedistrict court, in truth,and sorrow. The flimsy peopleof the truth, that of the most humble,of institutions the corset offers. Thoseengaged in the right,according to staff there. Why on earthis painful to do your changes.The windows facing us, a gas

station here and there was reverencehe could be a year old scotch. The car movedswiftly past hisheart. Supplant intensity with akeyhole split with a laugh.Maybe she can buy one.Figures of beauty for prowesswills away. They were filled,the faithful, arrived. Quench the fireshining on the outer range. When does it.

It was borne upon me of imported goods.The pages we burn send signals made ofsugar: the skull songs and prayers:when you write this down.All sonnets are honest laws legislated.Tree stumps anchor rocks.Not our problem, is whatpushes us anyway, thru the dirt.I was a watch. And on some virtue add;but

What is still inmy life snuck up from the eyesof her hair, kicked off inloss. Out of a mad, madlamb. A flock of sheep sweeps down over ahill whereupon hills of extraunwanted concrete gains in the

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pose of contorted collapse. Beams of themodern atmosphere,linked closely in pairs. You could have

been some day. He would have pulledthem out. The intestines are emptiedin long trails of sea grass. Theshadows of the ditch, a note, in thisunnerved state. Mother of her thoughts.When I press my closed eyes with my fingers,absent in the new work, astory ends. What was imagined grewon. Not the primal step when I wascommunicating more

broadly, unfolding aweb of filaments and glossytubes. But her dog asksthe bartender.With seven great seconds upon yourthoughts, perceptions decay. It did and it isthought seriously.To find them to shreds.The blue ridge divide can bestanding, tries to act

like a bird. And of course. The eyesjust woke up, become experiments.Perhaps because the evilside of the tables. Andthe last woolly mammoth.Still, the fairy tale land,a damsel in distress, awaited therevolt of life and state. Acarriage, to that river,the door. The panes

slide. One taught with apprehensionof youth, the settlers occupied. Youthink not serve to dismay!

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The boys walked. A spell. The eyesjust that, in this unnervedfact a lot remained for us to thelast degree. Such events occur onaverage once per several years.

Cut it out oftalk, out of forest because now we areall in a narrow anddeserted street, in deep smells of soiland rotten wood. The eyesof these occupations,tear anyone down. Yououtfield and do not ascertain.When he offers a cart full ofpoison, the child would havehunger, thirst. Like a smoking gashthe central gloom he felt always

by degrees. Andhis men had been the sameeach week. How much we need!Trained to swell and crackle, brownsyrup on the floor. The lord strikes the watersof the county. And twisted upwards, satup half the horn and a shufflinggait. Her elbow, near the fresh graves,pages torn from the eyesof the sun, was low on perfection.

Encore crime: me? In panelsin the distance to your mother.A man in any community, in this state!A moment, yes, they have hunger, thirst.All right here before your righteous.Grey clouds.The life beyondthe cottage.I wanted poems with cardinal numbers.Their surprise used

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to pass up something I want.To live you must understand theessence of shadowand open windows looked upon.A flood control project, another trespass,a mountain gorge. No brokenbits. Indignation Islandretreated. Bright vagrant fire. Butstill uncertain threat ofa global essential.

In this dreamof being, a song, thetrees. The other two; the whale;in the same mothball swelter. Grease lathersducks midair. In one against the moonit begins to moan. It wasthe calendar.His eye eye eye eye eye eye eye eyeeye challenged kids thereon their way to fear. Still, the big wigs

indicate the midwestand the man in it.Brightened to the workover the ocean floor.Thinking of the future onthe surface. Weshook them. With a broadarrow to the wooden indianthis stew is a picturemissing from my reflected image when

I asked for death. I amthe law, the moment, thebeauties. The poison curiositiesI toast with my left hand. I held the eyesas just woke up. The opened doors, eyesto relieve the deathin a cup. Grip the trolley truck firmly and

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take possession. Owing to destruction!The shining sap in outline shows a clarityof being knocked about.

The new hotelstrolling slowlythrough the air thinned with the eyes;hybrids from the body of something youalready know. The sky was the sameobject. Slide through the trees.Of the disease itself you see there?Live false,say farewell. Then let lay.I heard you

here, o, saturatedwith blood. The great ambition of theblackout sat in this. Thefighting spirit was aroused. The porcelain stove,the whale in his pocket. The eyeswithin dusk. Repent, lesta poem is underscrutiny. I reached insidea steel dome, a blinding sunlight.If the killers were all in

a temper. You can hear thewords. Time isnot just about lifting heavy loads,pigeons cooing at the moon,Freedom and liberty, without eventaking the ravaged mutt out.My mind has a furtherfeature from the soilfrom the future. Preparingto return to a

kitchen knife. Asked in anundertone as the breath is taken inand looked about. Look at it with the eyes.

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Of talking to ensuea divorcee with two antennas.A man entangled with the itch be shun.And the scene as cup spills,is a way of industry. Old buildingcodes as a box of trinkets spilt allover again. I got to come with

national prohibition. In moatabove, a not uncommondivine to lift the cage youwere born in, America. How the strangewills stay. Never for a moment ofa world do we love you well.Resolve a seed slowly openinginside of a down payment. We traveled,want to thank you, wriststapping code to no inclination.

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Established in 2001, BEARD OF BEES PRESS has been publishing freely dis-tributable, quality poetry chapbooks with an eye toward poetry that is suspiciousof an ahistorical lyric “I,” that is built out of procedures and forms, and that mayor may not involve machines.

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