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week of December 27, 2004 - January 9, 2005



Arlen Donzi and Lucas Thorn




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Death of a Mauve Bat! | Sinzibuckwud! | We Put Things In Our Mouths | A Man With No Teeth Serves Us Breakfast
I'd Like to Bake Your Good | Stolen Mummies| Brendan Constantine is My Kind of Town | Up Liberty's Skirt | Feeding Holy Cats | Mowing Fargo
I'm a Jew, Are You
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| I Am My Own Orange County | Paris: It's The Cheese | Poetry Super Highway
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Arlen Donzi
Bright-Orange@nyc.rr.com

Bio (auto)

A native of Ohio, Arlen Donzi's work has appeared in "Exquisite Corpse" and "La Petite Zine." Donzi now lives in New York City.

The following work is Copyright © 2004, and owned by Arlen Donzi and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Shy Octopi Express

Shy octopi express feelings
By hue change and prove
Intelligent when accessing food:
Mayo jars full of worms.
So a sign informs.

It echoes in here. It echoes in here. Hear it. Hear that echo.
That's the echo. I can beat you. I can run faster. OK go.

Here one cowers on
Concrete coral, bright-lit
Tittie bar grease yellow and green:
In the sea floor floor show
Our sexy star demures.

Move now, you're on my foot, you're in my way, you take too long.

Little fiddle head family's
Off like a shot bullet to
An opposite crag, settles ruffling,
And sends unsure petalled tentacles
To feel their way along fake rock.

Is it alive. Is it moving. Is it asleep. Does it bite. I asked first.
Can you pick me up. I want to see. No, me. Pick me.

Singe yourself yellow
Showing afraid. Or
Bloodened orange registers
Rubbery rage. Crimson-tinge your lilac
Limbs and tell us that you feel it.

It slimes when you pop it. Squish it. Smear it gumlike under shoe.
Wipe it. Drag it sticky and stomp it off in the bathroom.

Could: fill the tank with
Milky-pearl ink. A
Shimmering lactic welkin
Keeps them at bay while you get away
One grand night to the ocean.

That thing smells. It's ugly. It's gross. It stings. It eats people. I'm scared.
Where are the otters. The sharks. The snacks. The books. The bears.


Lucas Thorn
lucas.thorn@gmail.com

Bio

Lucas Thorn is indeed his real name, and not one made up by his agent so he can get a spot on Days of Our Lives. Lucas lives in Perth, Western Australia. Lucas has ten toes (although he wishes he had thirteen), went to uni for four years in hope of picking up girls at the local uni pub (he failed miserably - maybe he should have thought of actually going to the pub instead of just looking in from the doorway), and is currently exploring his creative talents by maintaining a contemptuous attitude toward the system and all those who participate in it. That is, he's unemployed and living on noodles. All hail the Noodle King.

Visit Lucas on the web here: http://www.lateralobsessions.com/

The following work is Copyright © 2004, and owned by Lucas Thorn and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

weathergirl predicts rain

storm showers
maximum of sixteen,
and have you seen
my top? isn't it tight?
my smile is broad
teeth are white,
tomorrow, it will rain.


kite
quiet chocolate cards
game over: puzzle complete.
simple impressions are
beyond expression.
mister nishi flies a kite
before he dies.


wicked smile

flowers couldn't say
what words never will;
your smile is wicked.


god is an atheist

elbows rest against bar; neon
reflected in wet eye-blinks.
why does god hate me, he asks.
bartender shrug - sets
up another; he's seen it all
before. ash floats (island
volcanoes extinct) within
a puddled sea. lifts
his head, rolls eyes and
says have faith, because
god is an atheist.


as tomorrows go

goblin smile, your cheeks hurt.
practical joker,
sticking balloons to cars.
as tomorrows go,
you're by far
the most beautiful.


the plane

spliced avocado shelter
me in your garden
of springs and dead concrete
feet surround in gelatine.
don't listen to words
when you can hear noises
oil drip on metal rust.
i'm asking you
to be nervous in the face
of opposition.
this plane dives like a swan
into ash heap grain silo.
and you sing, charmed
novice apprentice with arms
reach wide
insect wings breathe
in summer swirl
who do you think you are?
red baron? hey, biggles,
you missed the runway.

Death of a Mauve Bat! | Sinzibuckwud! | We Put Things In Our Mouths | A Man With No Teeth Serves Us Breakfast
I'd Like to Bake Your Good | Stolen Mummies| Brendan Constantine is My Kind of Town | Up Liberty's Skirt | Feeding Holy Cats | Mowing Fargo
I'm a Jew, Are You
| Lizard King of the Laundromat
| I Am My Own Orange County | Paris: It's The Cheese | Poetry Super Highway
Rick's Bookmarks |
Cobalt Poets | E-mail Rick | Upcoming Readings | Who The Hell Is Rick