The fearful walk keeping their shadows well in front. Drawing a bead of sweat that is prayer they seek to penetrate the mystery only in so far as it feels good to each other's breasts. Talking to god. The smallest particle of a tree's trunk. LEFT TO HER SELF. She likes to dress sexy by hiding her body in his RIGHT TO THE POINT. They flew over the mountains to find their births silenced by snow. No NOW here. Thrust through the door. A horrible dream. A virgin birth. A tiny love. Hair-covered skulls facing a white wall in a darkened room. "Thank you...thank you... thank you, see you tomorrow." I hate NOW when I'm here. Rehearsing the question before daring to ask the venom's antidote. PAPER CUT. The start of the rain is leaves rustling, cat's fur brushing the door. "...those who were slaughtered for the sake of the word of God...." The larger, loud, head, or prophecy.


1986, 11x8.5, 20 pgs, $6. With 5 full page color-xerox graphics by DiMichele. A carefully wrought series of poems from a larger work-in-progress. a strong voice in the language of our times that deserves a wider audience. Co-editor of Score publications in Oakland.