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Steve OrthTHIS ISSUE WAS CO-EDITED WITH LINDSEY BOLDT. THAT'S WHY IT'S SOOOO GOOD. BUT ALSO HAVING 2 EDITORS MEANS THAT THERE'S TWICE AS MUCH CONTENT. SO IT'S A DOUBLE ISSUE. AND SINCE WE MADE SUCH A BIG ISSUE WE DECIDED THAT WE'RE GOOD FOR A LITTLE TIME OFF. SO LINDSEY & I ARE GOING ON SUMMER VACATION. THERE WON'T BE ANOTHER ISSUE OF WHERE EAGLES DARE UNTIL AUTUMN.

JEN MANZANO MADE THE COVER. THANK YOU JEN.

I AM SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS ISSUE FULL OF GREAT POETS & WRITERS. I FEEL BLESSED TO HAVE THEIR HEARTS & MINDS IN THIS MAGAZINE.

XO,STEVE

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Steve Orth TABLE OF CONTENTS

d'dra whitevalerie wittealan bernheimer demaurie lavienejason morrisgarrett caplesanne lesley selcerla'naya barksdaleron palmersue landerszack haberkaty bohincmichael nicoloffsteve dickisonanahita jamali raddaniel owen ce putnamdonato mancinimat laported. scott milleranne boyer

Steve Orth

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Steve OrthMade in Oakland CA, May 2014

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Steve Orthpage 3page 4page 8page 11page 12page 16page 20page 24page 25page 30page 31page 34page 37page 41page 45page 50page 54page 59page 64page 68page 71

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My new lover loves my child bearing hips Gives him something to hold onto While we slow dancing cheek to cheek He don't know This body isn't always comfortable He calls me chocolate like it's my name Like only sweet things come in this shade of brown Like this skin hasn't ever been painful He gives me affirming words for nickname Renames my unhealthy sexy He likes to show me off Parade me in front of friends Co workers and the like He whispers in my ear when no one is looking He don't know I had to retrain myself to stand still Don't know I have to remind myself not to hear hisses in places void of snakes My new lover is a passionate man Kisses my lips until they mimic aftershocks Inches hands over landscape like my skin is Braille He don't know my person hasn't always been treated with this much care Hasn't always been handled this gently My new lover likes to call me his woman He don't know I've been owned before Wore daughter until it felt more possessive than familial How childbearing hips can be more curse than blessing He don't know I'm still learning to love this vessel All chocolate and choice Still learning all the ways rough can heal All my new lover knows is I got these childbearing hips He holds on to them while we dance cheek to cheek He don't know all things I've done to keep the music playing

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! ! ! !!!!

63!

when we match faces with insects five are black on white paper. or foreign material within the lens lining

the curvature of a body, bristles and hair hung. lossless the way we maintain consistency. (I think about your hair maybe once a week.) soft and blond when first formed in most adults results in a hardening and darkening inability to distinguish between his wifes voice, the radio, and a refusal to consider the possibility that his hearing might fail.

Steve Orthvalerie witte

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! ! ! !!!!

64!

in the basement spaces an extensive body of object relations. take

surfaces blanketed by felt arranged in frames hung like diamonds. soldiers for painting, closets of cards and silk remnants from cigarette packs. a system of pegs on which to hold ones bats and gloves to walls, autographed balls alongside voices and chimes, animal sounds & decanters positioned on a shelf. records spilling to the floor, into the laundry a sort of organization. at a nickel a book cataloguing enough to keep a child busy for years. a measure of love. as if everything need be measured. there are ten original jackets. two are black and red protecting original selections knowing each can be located, rotated, played & appraised, no matter how trivial.

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! ! ! !!!!

66!

(and please please tell me you are making phrases out of sewer structures, fire hydrants, a pattern

of energy lines. the survival tricks played on travelers.) we got our eyes yesterday and 60 percent of hauntings are pink a turbulent blur. she understands the temptation to sneak to peek the foolish fire faint. surrender to the love terrorist, the primary repository of affection. what went loose in a psychological rebellion. (two selves talking to me, its OK to just stop talking to me.) your willingness to admit this is telling. in what manner of distraction he fled finding delays in the film gaps where something possible might have happened. (the more I love you the harder it is to go off-world off

men or remembrance and fingers are the way to press or please tell me your world is corroborated by strangers.) dont give up on us blue flames

are crossbreeds of toy makers and

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! ! ! !!!!

67!

primitive men. and godlike superhumans. the mirrored you split or instructions for building a device one-half our own image

and the camera duplicates it. the disappearance of travelers into mires, a woman in the next room singing or the radio, chatter through a hall a noise matrix of voices range in color from white to yellow to pale blue the outcome of tossed dice on a wooden platform with three protruding

legs is suspect. (why you so rarely play.) as a technician on the seven fairy tracks he recorded such moments with Polaroids.

(most of my lovers remained imperceptible; I was myself not long ago fleeting as kit-in-the-candlesticks.) a little board is a spirit forest wavering. (though youd never made me cry). sometimes

the things you arent looking for are the most unbearable things.

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Alan Bernheimer

I WAS A TEENAGE HYPNOTIST

For Suzanne Stein I always loved sending away for things by mail. Forty years before the Internet and Amazon made armchair shopping commonplace, you could easily obtain a small monkey, a teacup Chihuahua, or a ventriloquists swazzle through the mail-order ads in comic books. Army surplus Jeeps, needing some assembly but costing under $100, could be had in the classifieds at the back of Popular Mechanics. But for category breadth and kitsch, nothing compared with the Dorothy Damar catalogue, each page featuring eight or nine selections ranging from household gadgets like a serrated grapefruit spoon (set of four, $1.49) to novelties like an ant farm ($2.98) or a drawkcab llaw kcolctells time backwards (8.98). My taste ran to novelties and I did buy the farmthe little farmers shipped separately. I bought but never mastered the swazzle, a half circle of leather, metal, and plastic the diameter of a quartermarketed as the secret to throwing your voice, but really just a device to produce whistling noises and ducky speech. In a related ambition as conjurer, I made the transition from operator of store-bought practical jokes (the dribble glass, the bottomless spoon), gaffs, gimmicks and prepared decks to some grace and fluidity in sleight of hand with cards and coins, educating finger muscles with hours of practice in front of a full length mirror until the moves became invisible to me. But my shortcoming as a performer was the magicians patterthe weave of personality, narrative, momentum, and misdirection that cloaks sleight in illusion and elevates artifice to arta surprising deficiency in light of the success I was having with high-school dramatics, especially in comedic roles. But in magic I had no ready access to a good script or director. Surprising, too, since my line of patter as a hypnotist was good enough to put half a dozen subjects under. And patter, along with confidence, is all there is in the hypnotists bag of tricks. As a young man, my father had hypnotized a few summer campers when he was counselor, and so I had close-hand evidence that it could be done, as well as a tendency to follow in his footsteps. I mailed away for and received the Hypnosis Handbook from the National Crystal Company in Millburn, N.J., whose order form for additional publications on judo, tattooed women, helpful hints for horseplayers, handwriting analysis, yogism, and chastity girdles accompanied the 16-page pamphlet. Peter R., my New York City apartment building upstairs neighbor and boyhood friend, was my first subject. This would be freshman year, high school. One evening, I sat him down in a reclining aqua blue Danish modern armchair with a matching footstool whose top tilted up to complete a comfortable lazy S. A reading lamp on a scissor mount behind his head shone on the pencil tip eraser that I held about a foot from his face, a little above the eye line. The rest of the room was in shadow, including me. I started the standard patter about concentration, relaxation, and drowsiness and soon his eyelids began to flutter. He went under during the sleep count, and the cataleptic arm test (unable to bend at elbow)

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proved he was an apt subject. After deepening the trance, I tried a variety of exercises, including numbness to pain, clairvoyant hallucinatory travel to different locales, and harmless post-hypnotic suggestions such as speaking an absurd sentence (Alan is a zebra) whenever I put my hand on his head. Everything went by the book, and I was careful to ensure that my subject wakened at the end feeling as refreshed as if hed had a nice nap. He remembered nothing from the session, which is not unusual, although I had not suggested amnesia. Peters younger brother was similarly suggestible, and I can recall him sitting atop the Empire State Building, holding a telescope and swiveling around to see the city sightsat least in his mind. David S. a smart-alecky red-haired Canadian schoolmate, was another susceptible subject. But despite my success with peers, I ran into a psychological wall when I attempted to hypnotize an adult. In retrospect, Id made a poor choice in an opinionated, impatient, skeptical scientist friend of my parents who took time out from their dinner party to try my new skills. Once Id gotten his eyes shut, not even the relaxation techniqueguiding his attention to his extremities and moving the relaxation point gradually up the limbs to the body core and finally the mindwas able to produce or deepen a trance. Clearly I should have picked a less strong-willed and stubborn subject for my first experiment on an adult, since success breeds confidence in the operator. This setback and two other factors contributed to my abandoning a budding career as mesmerist. Although each successful trance induction produced a small thrill of conquest, I was becoming bored by the available effects and activities to pursue with the hypnotized subjects. Although I was reading about hypnotherapy, I was clearly too callow to attempt anything in that line, and I knew that simply removing symptoms of neuroses through hypnotic suggestion without getting at underlying causes was believed to result in new and perhaps more problematic expressions of the unresolved issues. This being the early 60s, smoking cessation was not yet on anyones mind. Frankly, I was getting creeped out by the sense of exerting power over others, even though I took it on faith that subjects cannot be induced to do anything harmful or morally objectionable. But they were still doing whatever I told them to do, instructions they would not have followed without hypnosis. I decided this ability to mold anothers will through arcane technique was not a side of my personality that I wanted to encourage. Four or five years later I did try my skill one more time on J., a Eurasian student from Wellesley visiting me at Yale for the weekend, a friend of friends. There was no spark of romance, despite our adolescent hormones and the late 60s climateeven a friendly back rub led to nothing more. J. was interested in quitting cigarettes and, sitting in a red butterfly chair one fall evening in my wainscoted Saybrook College room outfitted with fireplace, leaded glass casement windows, and enormous double bedstead with roses carved into its dark oak, she was a ready subject and successfully took the post-hypnotic suggestion that cigarettes taste like burnt rubber. And so they did, for at least a few days, since such suggestions need periodic reinforcement in order to persist. I dont know if Id make a good subject myself. I had no success at all with self-hypnosis per se, not being able to get my head around the idea of being simultaneously suggester and suggestee. But the post-

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hypnotic certainty that has remained with me is the minds ability to create its own truth, to see (or not see), independent of objective reality: These arent the droids were looking for. Eyewitness error, fabricated memories of abuse, and police lineup misidentification are just a few examples of such suggestibility. Neurologists have even found cellular substrates in the brain for manufactured memories, engrams in the dentate gyrus. If an amateur hypnotist can make you hallucinate, how much more convincing is the self-agent. I can look at the kitchen counter or refrigerator shelf and not see an item in plain sight because I strongly suspect someone has put it elsewhere. Visual or auditory illusions involve just two of the senses. Hypnosis is also a well established method of producing anesthesia. (In the days before Novocain was common for drilling, my dentist uncle tried to put me under but I just didnt trust him.) A standard test for trance is to tell the subject they wont feel pain in, say, their hand and then sharply pinch them, or even use a pin prick. Conversely, its claimed that a cool spoon applied to the skin can both produce a burning sensation and raise a blister in a subject who is told that its red hot. No wonder the placebo effect has become part of medical orthodoxy. And in several recent studies, optimists had as much as a 50 percent lower mortality rate from cancer and heart disease than pessimists. Faith healing is just a step beyond. And speaking of optimism, the National Crystal Company was almost certainly the mail order business started in the 1960s by Julian Simon, later an economist and controversial population growth optimist, as a way to employ his out-of-work parents. His father had run a two-man washing soda business under the same name in nearby Newark that folded during World War II.

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MyLifeThatYouWereBornIn!

byDemaurieLaviene

HiDemaurie,

Areyougay?orhappy?

No,Imhappy

Yes,Imgay,becausemylife

Imlookingforsomeone,butImhappybecauseImgay

Imgay,yes,butIhavearainbowflag

Imgay,butyouthinkIlikeboys

Igotfriendsthatsupportme

Imhappybecausemyfriendsandmyfamilysupportme!

Whyareyougay?

Bitchitsmyway!

Ok,Ihateyourway

butitismyway!

ImtherainbowandIhavethecolors!!

Ihavenodad

Iwasraisedbymymomfor14years

ImaboybutIcanbeagirlwhenIbeathome

Ilivewithtwobrothers,onesister,andmymom

Whydontyouhavenodad?

Mymomwasmydad

Ok!

TheshitIwanttobe

IcanbewhateverIwanttobe!

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***

These big pink

flowers fallloudly

in my backyard

***

the tenant of the plain

John Clare, The Wren

Morning rushes

into view, filled

with thrushes

singing in live oak

branches, more gnarled

than one

could ever expect. Or

drawtell about

prevailing winds

clouds Constable saw

& painted in

raw shifting silvers

coke steam

seams aquifers & sneered

dominion not anapologetos

the calamity of being real

this thin thing poems

& paint

form, to

deliver doubled

a dream of a dream:

tell about

long limbs hanging

impossibly down

to soak rain & light

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out of

low parking lot air.

Tell about or draw how

gravel crunches under

tires there, sound

cloud on a podcast,

cloudless

extension cord thru CA

glittering I-80 extreme

heat advisory day. Or

hollyhock in lathy peeps

the noise is still familiar,

like

an echo I would strain

to hear

over man-made falls,

the wail

of dams, transformers, all.

The harder you listen,

the less

of it you getmesh

on which any of my

(initial or otherwise)

sense depends.

Signal: word dropped

in water

stone in well

9.V.13

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ENCAMPMENT ON OCEAN

for Jackson Meazle

Its as you suspected

Chert Breccia with Sculptor

a ways off

in thought, aside

Chaucer, the Red Statue of Mars

for a long time

I preferred

it kept

patterned

As electron to galaxy

in maze of expanding

ash

(the mind a cavalcade of

wild horses, as it spreads

across valley floor). Language

displaces nothing

kenosis

But if, as the philosopher says

Language is the house of Being

we (poets) have squatters rights

& treat the edifice as such

elegant poverty

trying barely

to make a trace

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The oracle at Delphi:

built around a ringer

the rock was the MacGuffin

Zeus mother used to trick

Kronos

a stand-in for the real thing

The really important thought I keep

Not thinking, as though by accident

Pushing it off

to the side

contrapuntal

almost to the point of

abstraction

right when I finish the poem

the bus pulls up

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GARRETT CAPLES RIDES AGAIN

my concealed carry personality has deformed my trouser content

to the extent my permit permits im shooting off often in public im a blow dart in a wind tunnel aimed in the wrong direction

a boycotted russian vodka distiller an assdial away from arrest im that bad molly going around

on the business end of fucking up thats me in the glass inner office telling beads on the heads of my foes

is it genderqueer to be a femme & such an aggressive asshole same bat time, same bat channel but the cosplays a satin hassle

youd think my years in a boyband would inure me to humiliation but this bratwurst from the king

is the only thing keeping me was i going to say alive? was i going to stay in & get things done

or stand in line for a cronut at my age in this tax bracket they said bananas could get you high they said lyric poems had to die

they said lickon tattoos were lsd & toiletseats could give you stds the reek of the schoolyard cistern

haunts todays items of piety

Steve Orthgarrett caples

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just as readily but to me the poetry only grows under such conditions

as to hold the candle up to the album to illuminate the grooves. every time the bucks go clattering i go numbering

their hooves in this inexplicable ritual of anthropologizing up over this 200 year old carpet of cigarettes

im ready for my autotune, dr. luke im ready to head to toluca lake to watch the ghosts of flappers float over the lawn of the hope estate

while its still for sale. where once i was cuckoo for cocopuffs im afraid ive gone apeshit

for grapenuts today. ive only got so many colons to lasso your heart away

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PAUL BOWLES IN EL CERRITO

the marimbas and the marijuana were the only good things in the town. the men were violent and dirty. the women were made of stone. a tortilla might run up and smack your face. the doilies were straight unforgivable. there was a cactus the size of the grand cooley

dam and a pencil the size of a lizard. a burro made of churros and a pinata stuffed with opinions. compared to my life as a mountain dweller, even the bums were city slickers. the wind always blew hard and cold. the marijuana and arhoolie records were the only good things in the town. there were ill-mannered goats as big as great danes, while the great danes themselves were like runty chihuahuas. the university presses were nothing to

speak of and the abandoned monasteries less than picturesque. the palm trees were clenched like fists. the guitars were out of tune and the pianos had 86 keys. it was illegal for men to breastfeed in public. the ample parking and the marijuana were the only good things in the town. the flowers gave off the most foul odor. the sex offenders barely registered. there were no gas stations and it was a pain in the ass to go to the dentist. the

internet was a broken wheel propped against a well, the telephone a buzzard on a shed. there were neon signs like giant banana leaves and stick bugs like you wouldnt believe. the gorge that lay below the town yawned and belched a puff of smoke, because the marijauna and the barbeque were the only good things in the town.

for Andrew and Rose

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HOMAGE TO ROD ROLAND

ah man, an inch of snow in cario & peter otoole dies same day as joan fontaine. petes death

hurts the rest of us who were nt affected by, say, paul walker s child molestation explosion but still gotta live with it in the cosmic sense. i cried when john

ny thunders died & laughed a bout kurt cobain though maybe thats just me. my-my-my gener ation didnt include me for reasons not opaque to me. i wasnt what

mtv said to be & it was a comp elling narrative back then. i listen to the filler on an iron butterfly album & think whyd they bother when they just coulda? i hear ele

phants are telepathic & why shouldnt they be? they got big ears

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1

Riddem

All the beautiful boys

Have secrets that ties their mouths,

Educations that wind like staircases,

Dressed in pinions, bright as children

In the prison of the collapsed present,

Their speech goes from the mouth as a ribbon,

Stretches out like poverty stretches out in languor,

Records and retells sensory fact that models untellingness,

In collaged rhythmic sequences that

Unfold like the poem, but affect change.

In the glittering building, in the self's apartment,

Blossoming in the bright actual library of tears,

They chant: "In the place of absence,

Multiplicity, in the place of of givenness,

Repleteness, in the place of languor, rising,

In the place of rhythm, ribbon."

They laugh outside the library,

Read out loud to one another on the pavement.

Actual tears drench the ground. Vast lucid texts

Are unclenched, "It is morning, speech has blossomed,

You are awakening. A lovely light is singing out loud.

In the movement, in my eyes, in the line, Silvia

Federici is alive."

Steve Orthanne lesley selcer

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2

My mother was a secret house,

a new round of enclosures.

Adriatic, Galia, Algerian, Atago.

Magic seemed a refusal of work.

Bella Heart, Betty Anne, Bergamont, Black,

Black Amber, Black Beauty, Black Globe, Black Pearl.

The world had to be disenchanted,

Angel, Aprium, Arkansas Black,

Athena, Baldwin, Apricot,

sexual activity transformed into work,

Black Current, Black Rochelle, Baby Bear,

Catalina, Cherimoya, Crimson Red,

Crab Apple, Clemintina, Crimson Glow,

complicity and repulsion, negation then exorcism,

medicine reformulated into perfume.

Red Delicious, Dancy, DAnjou Red,

Ellendale, Crimson, Crimson Sweet.

In this large and most beautiful house,

Elephant Heart, Barhi, Black Raspberry,

Black Sugarcane, Canaydria, Canary.

Bartlett, Babcock, Blackberry,

Calimyrna, Cello Blood.

Ariran, Athena, Amagaki,

my mother was a feral house.

Ambrosia, Apple Pear.

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3

The eye must be sunlight

Ice caked, falling water, compression, clarity

if colors are the deeds and sins of light, this is light caught sleeping

green abases to gold, red deepens to rouge

a hillside becomes painterly, its grass turns ochre, expires into solidity

a postcard series: the sky painted blue, the grass green

the work is a machinery of distance and contact

conceptually based sequences, shot North, West, Northwest, Southeast

cold and colorful, red deepens to rouge, gold abases to green

the mirror is the brightest color, the mirror strikes light.

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4

What proliferates in absence, distance

and is behind every word,

what sounded like lions

but were rips, splices,

the invisible straining toward convexity,

how heaven and death are concurrent

and beauty is a way to appear.

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Steve Orthla'naya barksdale

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excerptfrom:PerSon

cuteforthevirus

variabilitycleaved

attachment:detachment

lifecycleisthesame

foreverystrainandevenfaith

ishostileinthewronghands

undetectablesoul

purpleveinedjellyfish

Clingingbetweenthelungs

Likeaportalwindow

showinghimsliceacow

inlovelythinslices

carpacciowiththefur

stillblackfuzzaroundthemeaty

edgesbodiless

miraculouslybloodless

fellfoldedcartoonlike

theslicesofcowcrumpled

uponthemselves

I'maliveagainbecauseofyou

amIaneurotransmitter,noI'myour

fuckingghostIwonyou

youownme

Stupidamphetaminepulsing

synapticI'minsideyoubetterthanmemory:Heyhoneywhatwar

wereyouin?

StroboscopicRuin(skunkclit)flick

drowningintongueIamyours

Steve Orthron palmer

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Shallowbodyanger

"BeforeIwaswasps

Iwaspassingforaman

throughadoorway"

"webothhadalong

shinyknifedrowninginthatdooryardbloomingIamaseverer

ofselfnosongleftsorrysexyWhitmanIam

murderIngmyWarmerBruder

WarmerBrother

WarmerBrooder

Withmycock.

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liquidentry

bothmenunshaven

thesameheight

theknivesidentical

ThemomentIrealize

itisamirror

doorwaymoment

readytoplungeintoeachother

bothbladespoised

Vibratinginfists

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StipplingIcarryherdownthestairs

herlittlebodyshiveringinyourarms

I'velearnedhershiverandstarewhenshesmellsdanger

franticscratchingonfenceaprimalcrythentworaccoonsbacklitby

neighbor'ssecondfloorbluewindowflickeringcinematizethedouble

creaturerunninghunched&balancedbytinyfurryhandson

fence

Huntingastraywecalljawjawkitty

becausewhenwetapgentlyourwindowshelooksupfromlicking

herblackpawandvibratesherjawlikeajitteringrobot

atuskneeling&laughingonourcouchintheCaliforniasunlight

Ihearwailingbehindthefence,Iknowjawjawkittyispined

bytheraccoonsandbloodyfootprintsoncementinthemorning

telltheend

withmycousininaclownsuit&thethirdloverridinganother

steppingonsomebodies

oxidetoesandabloodynose

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Iftherewereagenderlesschild

Onthecoastofgenre:

Iwouldbeacowboy

novelsnarlingintothestellar

nurserybitingforeskinstretchwhere

IgrewuponVirginiaWoolf's

mapsforimaginaryspaces:

Takingovermoon'stideswe

exhibitsatellitedunes

Codedintoourgenes

Ijumpcuttomyfutureself

Speedingdown101:

ODoubleSoul

Iaskyou"wherewillyouflyIfIdie

HerepiningformyWombatpiningforHistrionicspiningforthefang

ofnostalgia

Onthewaytotheauthenticself

there'sboundtobe

somefraudulencesaying

fakeittillyoufuckit

fakingmysoulinthemirrorfingerfuckingmyselfinthemirror

whileI'm

mollifyingtheGhostbots.

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SueLanders,susanlanders@yahoo.com

iMPeRFeCT

ApoemaboutRennyandplasticbarrettes.

Thebarretteshecallslittlegirls7and8

wholosetheirflowerseveryday.

Plasticbarrettesonasidewalk.

Trashhearrangesandframes.

Somuchtrashhedecidedtopickituphimself.

Topickitupandpaintitandputitbackdownagain.

ApoemaboutRenny

spraypaintingallthetrashgold.

Allthebottlesandthevialsandthepoop.

Apoemaboutspraypaintingallthepoopgold

untiltheyshowedup,

untiltheyshowedupintheirarmyoftrucks,

totakeallthegoldaway.

Steve Orthsusan landers

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Steve Orthzack haber

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FromMalcolmXPark

ForWhereEaglesDare

Ohwereall

Soboringand

Stupidunder

Iwantyour

Ridiculous

Onthefloor

Forlornand

Youforgetting

Toknowyoure

Naked

SoIshowered

Washedoff

Wantwith

Extrawater

Tookanap

Waited

Meditated

Decomposed

Readpoems

Nobody

Wordless

DIS

SOLVE

PART

ICLES

Enjoy

ICLES

Smallsmall

Parts

Smaller

Andsmaller

Andsmaller

UntilIcould

Holdmein

My

Theproblem

Withmenis

Theyblame

Everyoneelse.

Theproblem

Withwomen

Isthey

Blamethemselves.

Theproblem

Withhumans

Isblame.

Somethinghas

Tobeeasier.

Ithoughtthis

Wasallpart

Ofrevolution

Andutopia

Easingthe

Interaction

Butapparently

Computation

Isnttaught

Inthebible.

Ireallydo

Prefer

Women.

(nothingtodoexcept

Anxiety

Primarilyproblematic

Soreshinskins

Backlabels

Spidercreepsings

Getlower&

Itsalmost

Failure

Lacklacklack

Attack

Someenergyis

Lurking

Beforeathought

Damnthought

Actionsconstipation

Backsick

Astrologymedicine

Jupiterhas12%of

Theplentbut

77%ofthemass

Lottolottolott

Blameblameblame

Namenamename

Threetime

Game

NOTYOUNOTME

NO

Steve Orthkaty bohinc

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Drawaboundary

Slowly

Stuckinyourhear

Mud

Quicksand

Canswallowa

Humaninsix

Seconds!

Wellthatsnice.

Shaman!Shaman!

Help

SHAMAN!

Donthave

Anywords

Forme

Anymore

Thanyou.

Startparenthesis

Becauseat

TheendIwant

Tocupyour

Flailingsinmy

Palm.I

Practiced.No

Pinch.Startle

Impressvelvet

Aluminumsturdy

Settlepaper

Weightoffer

Inyournaked

Notmyflinch

Thatiswas

Possiblenever

Never.Never

Alwaysgave

Mepause

Ilikethat

Thought

Akindof

Responsibility

Inthewhatever

Agephff

Names?I

Canbarely

Handle

Lettersbut

Youinthe

Bednextspace

Allhonesty

Silenthanging

Theregod

Illeatyour

Clichevery

Day.

SoIwent

Towork

Makesomething

Work

Log

1st

Tech

Nique

1st

Anals!

Cyst!

Sortaelegant

Thatbeing

Dartsat

Thewall

Stringsof

Perfecttens

Everyoneand

Awhilelet

Themindrun

Theage

Rhythmsheartbeat

Goingampersand

Metronome

DAMNITWORKED

LIKEaperfectclock

Andsatisfying.

Forgetlack.

Backbackback

Needneedneed

Afterthecrisis.

Truetruetrue

Afterthemurder

Hespent

Alotoftime

Writing

MURDERED

Steve Orth35

Steve Orth

Veryclearlyon

Hiswhiteshirt

Inmagicmarker.

Iwonderwhere

Hegotthemagic

Marketandif

Therearelimits

Tobesidethe

Pointcuriosity.

Ampersand.BUT.

EITHERORPOIGNANCY

Thegoodnewsis

Acomputercant

Westillneed

Humans.

Iateapizza

Itwas

Random

Butitwasnt

Thatrandom

Itwaspizza

AllIwantis

Randombut

Reductivekeeps

Drowning

Me.

Unformedchildren

Andmonks

Remindme

Justbe

Happywith

Redagain

Andagain

Classic

Sopostmodern

Clichwoke

Upbut

Stilldidnt

Connectwith

Therents

SoBabel

Fuckedstill

Imsoawake

Imalways

Screaming

Awesome.

ArtIjust

Wanttopurr

You!

Iwanttostare

Attheflickering

Lightinthe

Woodfirestove

FIREisalways

Random

Ishouldbein

ArtIdmake

Moremoney

Sorry.Ijust

Wanttobuy

Youbirds

Foryour

Birthday.

Ohandalways

Givethebenefit

Ofthedoubt

Asanexample

Ofhowwe

Shouldallbe

Tomake

Utopiapossible.

Steve Orth36

From Autobiography of Michael Nicoloff

what is your vision for this upload

beasts of the field intrigued by nonfiction

the epic of the pony but the memoir of the horse

the balance between enough space and enough mugs

tasteful nudes

strangle me with my mouse wire

things you shouldn't open with on a cold call

unfortunate vest

bat planning

a tuber time invents

stops chirping

Steve Orthmichael nicoloff

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an illustration changes us

rank these from 1 to 5: beefy,

the jumble,

weapons-grade sexting,

the flames rising out of the ocean liner,

the giant face you see

flirting in blood

the speed of the lotus

the chip beater

hot cola

looking hella fierce

in the holy ghost trance

Steve Orth38

get Wotan pronto

don't barf

don't rot

don't tolerate numbers

just a bacon cheeseburger

collaborating with your younger self

sperm emails

increasing brand control

I just need a man-sized bird nest

I demand naptime

fueled by manliness

Steve Orth39

working group on the feminist city

late game appreciation for nature

critical terms that went nowhere

using somebody else's guts

in situations that are impossible

to feel good about, i.e.,

to feel good about

shipping pallets

being physically vulnerable

feeling good about having too much face

please let me use my mind to this purpose

go back to old forms

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Steve Orthsteve dickison

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Steve Orthanahita jamali rad

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I thought we'd look good together

by Anahita Jamali Rad

to tear (verb)

on one

another

each other

apart

like living

with nothing

on nothing

familiar

familial

forgetting

on sidewalks

like nothing

is spilling

there's nothing

Steve Orth48

for giving

a number

for making

a killing

or taking

a beating

Steve Orth49

THE CALLED TALLERS

Lame assassin said its nude court of extraneous sun refrigerators, extraneous lunar court retinas. Demolishment's evil gust and popular Spanish music

(my God, a pencil) and eleven vibing Medeas suggest corn light, new grass, and errant lasting 11:30 of the night's ebbing only pair of sunglasses, no habit of abandonment in total, the poetry a lick calling jello rock cute little dross.

Pale old male markets and pesters for simple accumulation. Lame assassin's days of ocular bravado metabolically dispatch the red cess ecolab. Some merchant airs days of applause, lapsed eras engrimed in your liquor of signs.

Steve Orthdaniel owen

Steve Orth

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THE CURVE

Alp and lil' eros of 20 years, charmed ego, elk court plums in alp escape zones of chill ends, 25 years, univocal tourist, a day is an hour. Elk court plums as blank ocular moles, as venting nascent day is an hour

of hate money in cane and the last images of ambush seem to recruit poor united seconds. The letter of cancellation, a coffee with milk, an injection, a span of talons trepan what hulls a mirror, the near ice day, unnamed, abjures, bronchitis delves in rain. Last manic ossuary reels day's core under court in a

late communion. Dawn's passion, a trace of mirrored roast's desultory aggressor (pods of iguana mints discurse sullen laser yells). Old dastard palace brags, a quelled braid of snow ascertaining a moved verse of southern ventricles, a species of premature poor divestment at home, mass oven cakes teen delay, and the peals of Canada enter

lost arcades of Plaza Martorell in Barcelona. Dawn passes, a trance commotion of juice ghosts' noon cow beers, a finalized map of haste. 15 years, the desert of lonely manifestos sins a semi-sunrise and traces a pyramid, a buffalo, a sordid day star, the brazen necrotic jovial, perennial succor plumbs

pork in the mental dell of chilling ocean slaves.

Steve Orth51

NOT A MELLOW ME OCCURS IN RERUN

A quelled cape part of God frontier rerun sells llama Destiny but oh yeah lead into Demented Girl. A quelled cake, ornery with velvet Oz, for last lineage of my hand

sells llama Destruction but O yodels indigo Silent Girl. Avenue in simpers, amicable.

Steve Orth52

OTHER AMENDS IN THE STAR OF THE OCEAN CAMPGROUND

Only the radio cruises the silence (magnificent nude magnificent air) voices, legion, cake Om parties

contiguous songs cable ailing friends, hasten ultra quandary mill, gooning tenants venting years unerasing most, minus probes and minus serene

K holes (magnificent nude magnificent air) sweet as style, O new vote of the springtime 10 grades of sober zero at last 6 AM.

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Steve Orth

DAY 5

WINDING RIVER: A PART HE COULD NOT BORROW

Drop of water to drop of water

dragonfly leisure and vagabond

buzz debt barging up river and down.

Thirty more years wearing flowered

shirts conversing with the bodies

they want. Add temporary

works: a knot of roots under

a parking lot, an egret in its egg

wondering what its wings are for.

But who is going to purchase that?

Subtract phase rewards: we must

write all our animals now. I revolve

in the gravity of spirits above

the sea electric with Napoleon

below on that prison island beating

the air, flightless and stupid. Red

cranes spoil the beaches, and then

my isolation feels so mechanical.

I am following a single water

bugs total circuit from truck bed

Steve Orthce putnam

Steve Orth

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(10 PAX) to pink funnel to yellow

work boots. Lizards in the stairwell,

ants in the walls. There is a deep,

deep distance I feel it out there,

an internal ocean, tiding up beyond

any horizon. I need to see our planet

in the water, the white flower does

not stop going down.

Steve Orth55

DAY 78

I TEASED OUT MY ALBA

Your feelings before

the morning rules: coffee!

did the tie up and down

gently with wooden

wrists and rope

pick a branch of sugar

mine is a coma measure

of being able to pause

thus, whenever the song continues

it survives on green breath

and cues up the EVOL eye

wake me up Spoons!

or follow me into the shade.

Steve Orth56

DAY 95

THE EVERLASTING NOODLE IS ITS DELIGHT

Yesterday, I saw frizzled

lizards and had a laugh

at their jolly caricature

of stately Queen Bees

with their head attire,

ruff, feathered and courtly

train, do you want to see?

Our walk is being

pulled along by frail

dogs. It is not just

a feeling of corruption

without profit without you

outside the city walls

then some noodles

taking off shoes in our tiny

days bowling on red carpet

my dear fish balls someone

is howling three times

along with the cardboard

Steve Orth57

pile in the stairwell three

times the spicy broth

with peanuts is over there

look away three times

not many happy days filled

bean sprouts on top remember

when we took ourselves off

into the moonlit hanger

and were floating

there up high and beyond

all stars we might as well have

that as our tender keepsake

falling away.

Steve Orth58

1

Biwrixle

llama w

ill voluntar

ism leg

less force squirrel-

wing membr

ane elegy d

irge win

ce pagan pop

pies burning

over green skull-li

ke cabbages black

mounds li

fe of vegetables' lea

ves bore in

bearded development all

ege the natur

naturalists colour-f

leck tractor ray

ces illusions light

silk slippers dus

ty city clogs, hooflike

watermelon cleft empty

ness of state

Steve Orthdonato mancini

Steve Orth

Steve Orth59

2

twitter boi

l mutter whist

le trout tit ill

ate glass gerund

dive horseback pelt

anteater-ton

gue blown crystal

line theatre chir

ring bourgeois toa

d add quarrel dye t

o slopes crisp t

toast crunch root

s at gold cognac, ant

hology jangle keys

of language t

hick-walle

d semivowel abyss

ticklish request en

crust de

vout fat talk with

lactifluous competence

thesis tail cof

fee nupt

ial acci

dent omelette

immense lottery wheel

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3

whirr hypo-

critical acorns mon

ks cap antennae

ar is

ta te

got

hic pine

cone smelt milk

lancet tel

egram yacht collusio

n dry telephone drip

dripdrip

drip small-c

small-com

modity belt be

littling shuttlecock apple

told listen

ed understood

icy spa

zz swans m

ini squints h

ue-noise jaguar

s ear flau

tist lip oilsick c

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4

anti allprize

coal strawberries

cochineal bead ver

million lump

damp chemise rot to ope

n velvet azure

ibsen problem sum

mon burnoose zouave a

barber shaving the brgermeister

grazes! and if pa

le dim

innuendo in

fidel wrinkles raise

vision-teeth

crushed by binoculars cr

umble pol

icemanly phizz je

suitical tentacle

caresses con

vexity frisky

didactic bi

foliate

pleophonous

whirlw

ind pool incunabular sur

f well-m

eant alcazarian inte

Steve Orth62

5

rjections: forward!

lower!

away!

tap!

cameo!

enough!

enough!

Steve Orth63

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Steve Orth65

Steve Orthd. scott miller

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BILDUNGSROMAN

Anne Boyer

the death of kurt cobain. the death of river phoenix. the death of johnny depp. the death of the

fresh prince of bel aire. the death of molly ringwald. the death of keifer sutherland. the death of

ally sheedy. the death of juliette lewis. the death of winona ryder. the death of gary coleman. the

death of jim jarmusch. the death of quentin tarantino. the death of gus van sant. the death of

robert smith. the death of polly jean harvey. the death of royal trux. the death of stephen

malkmus. the death of krs one. the death of debbie harry. the death of bret easton ellis. the

death of lisa left eye lopez. the death of sinead oconner. the death of erykah badu. the death of

all the cosmonauts. the death of sassy magazine. the death of jessie jackson. the death of

prince charles. the death of francois mitterand. the death of missy elliott. the death of the

sandinistas. the death of el salvador. the death of chile. the death of argentina. the death of

guatemala. the death of the soviet union. the death of the united states. the death of yakoff

smirnoff. the death of chelsea clinton. the death of courtney love. the death of frances bean.

Steve Orth71

Steve OrthWhere Eagles Dare will return in the fall.Please send work to:482 40th St #6 Oakland, CA 94609steveorth25@gmail.com

Steve Orth

Steve Orth

Steve Orth