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Improvijazzation Nation - Issue # 53

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voice of the people
 
bastard of moonlight
open your cold cellar door
we'll come in to drink a boot full of grape wine
and laugh at the crack in your voice when you sing
bastard of sunlight
leap down from your attic
so we can see your steaming brains spilled
on the walkway where we are all welcome to tread
bastard of neon light
come out of your own shop
so we can fling your strange wares
all over main street where our cars are free to run over them
bastard of heavenly light
come down from your mountain & onto our scrapheap
where we have a rusted cross crawled by oily centipedes
and let us pretend that you don't know every one of our nails.

submitted byaworminmywall@hotmail.com 

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amorous in new york                             by luke buckham
 
the city lights died inside me
they came to my eyes to be put to sleep
i see through the skin of a stray sidewalk dog
plexus of sorrow's cigarette butts & soggy newspapers
i cut a hole in the floor to serve as my third eye
raindrops of rubber ricochet off the window-less bottom floor
and up through the gape
to be eaten by kittens who are made of crystallized light
 
if she arrives i will hide in her hips.

submitted byaworminmywall@hotmail.com 

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a neutered nation                             by luke buckham
 
once i was a lover
can't remember the face i wore then
once i was a child
everything fun was sin
once i was a president
my mirror was a slab of ice
once i was a soldier
they crushed my fingertips
once i was a woman
he tried to stitch me closed
once i was a man
blue multitudes reached through my tv with butterknives
               demanding that i cut down the world with a dull edge
 
it took me two decades just to get out of bed.

submitted byaworminmywall@hotmail.com 

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Hear It

 

 

 

the dance

of the notes

 

they move like

weight without

gravity

 

so free

from the

basic laws

 

like outlaws really

 

occasionally they are

hauled away

 

taken to a place

where they are abused

and told how to behave

 

constrained

 

rehabilitated

 

until they become

like everyone else

 

and then we accept them

and enjoy their company

 

and we smile

 

but in doing so

we

take

away

their

freedom

 

and ours

 

because we don't

let them speak

truthfully

 

and so

we don't learn

from them

 

and the basic

laws are applied

 

choking them

 

killing them

 

and blinding our

understanding

 

of how truly

free

 

they can

be

submitted byanimalu@animalu.com

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Consortium

I don't see what the quaking is all about,
it is just someone venting rage in a somewhat obscene
way.

How obscene you say?

Vocal chords are being splayed in a distorted way,
but allowing the freedom of the voice within.

The voice carries through the office walls,
startling heads with a resonating boom.

Eyes making contact with knowing nods,
they have outlasted another bod.

Deciding who originated the horrific boom,
becomes the topic as they swarm.

Like bees collecting pain,
they sense a blossoming flower of emotional angst.

Devouring the petals allows them the feeling of a
soulful feast,
leaving behind the carcass of another repressed child.

submitted bydalehend@yahoo.com

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the x-ray man eat tv static for patterns like magic laugh in the face of.


--Andrew Penland, 2001


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oedipus complex paranoid
check the sky for FBI agents
disguised as angels.  his vinyl
-skinned
wife  laugh at him.


--Andrew Penland, 2001


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sometimes magicians
sometimes skeptics
sometimes neither
sometimes both


--Andrew Penland, 2002


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1. iridescent: an ocean
of broken glass
opens itself to look
inside & invites
you
to see the shocking
untruth--

2.she is wearing nothing
but spiderwebs,
the mermaid with redbluegreen&
yellow dreadlocks (her nipples pierced
with lilacstems) as she
invites butterflies to dance with her.

3. she takes them
apart
piece
by peace,
(the cactusflowers turn their head.)
she absorbs the selfragments into her shadow
and all the air molecules
applaud.

4. just like that, the show is over.
you are left with a magic
wand in your hand and a million questions
on your tongue (but no one ot ask)
so you wave the wand.

and a miracle: (nothing)
happens.


Andrew Penland, 2002

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fiberoptic spiderwebs growing from your head like hair, so plug in
to the cyberzen of innerspace lies, purposefully made out of circus
aftertaste, of the bones of elephants too gentle for this earth, of
acrobats' karma and typesetters' liability: clocks breaking themselves
and eggs believing they came first, propaganda of an everyday earth's
revolution where counselors from the suicide hotline talk jesus off
the cross and rapunzell finally

shaves her head.

Andrew Penland, 2002

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"A Beachcomber's Prerogative"
Copyright 2002 Brent M. Parker


The warm, mallebale sand
The cold, tormented ocean

The cool, wild ocean
The hot, scratchy sand

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                     "Jigsaw Watermelon"


                             by

                        Katy Bertrand




Puzzle pieces
can be carelessly tossed into a jumble
in a cardboard box,
the pieces later removed,
put into order,
and fitted together again,
the picture whole.
Nothing lost.

A watermelon,
carelessly dropped on tan linoleum,
broken into uneven pieces
of slightly mealy, seed-ridden, dull pink flesh,
and two-tone green marble rind.
Unable to fit the pieces back together again.
Precious juice lost.

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The Hand that Holds the Fruit Basket"


                                 by

                           Katy Bertrand



When the bright pink flesh of the watermelon
has been eated down to the watery-white,
nearly translucent rind,
It is like ripping
a brittle, peeling,
nearly translucent, quick
Exposing unprotected peach flesh,
easily susceptible to injury
Preparing for inevitable insult

Grotesque, like rotting watermelon
Hairy, like molding peaches
Wrinkled, like a pear drying with age
Hands,
Eagerly loom
with shining silver nail clippers.

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                           (Untitled)

                               by

                          Katy Bertrand



I am a Christmas tree,
standing forlornly in a cage of slightly rusted chicken wire.
Overpriced, yet already dead when purchased                      (though
death is never cheap).

Attempting to hide branches,nearly brown with death,
under gaudy, overpriced ornaments
Strands of glaringly red, tinsel garland, bright, bright bulbs,
set to flash on
and off,                 spastically,
in an   uncomfortably,
     unnervingly,
irregular
        rhythm.
My torment flashing on

and off.

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