Thomas Wiloch Haiku 1994

December 18, 2018 § Leave a comment


soft sun

drops a

trail of eyes


(lightning twist)




Thomas Wiloch Haiku 1994

December 17, 2018 § Leave a comment



the burned



(circle of tombs)




Thomas Wiloch Haiku 1994

December 16, 2018 § Leave a comment



of the suicide



(nest of stones)




Thomas Wiloch Haiku 1994

December 14, 2018 § Leave a comment


glass bird


the finger path


(imaginary predator)




Marlene Mountain Haiku 1994

December 9, 2018 § Leave a comment


well there goes the year of the woman whatever that meant


are you or have you ever been


money belt but heck no money and too much waist


neglected the birds neglected


the haiku spirit snarls through his narrow-minded lips


his dead-beat dad now dead


none of the horses in the western poops


spring’s cum


are you who you eat


it didn’t mean anything he says about the other woman


can’t we all just get along can’t we all just write our own


she speaks of her pain all of the windows up




Anthony J. Pupello on Marlene Mountain

September 18, 2018 § Leave a comment


I had the opportunity to meet Marlene Mountain at a group show she was participating in at New York University. She was really something special. At first, I think I puzzled her. But when she recognized my name, it was as though we were old friends. Her pieces were something else as well. What was astounding was that Grey Art Gallery is so staid and Marlene and her work are certainly not. I was sort of surprised she showed there – but very happy as it gave me a chance to meet her. When I asked if she would be speaking the next day, she said “they wouldn’t let me speak – they’d tie me up!”

June 2, 1995




PETER YOVU from Imago

April 27, 2016 § Leave a comment

For Beauty I Wept Butterfly Pins



a small bird’s

thud against the glass


my house

closing in




into an ear’s


the wren’s inch



grackles gather

the enamel sound their beaks make


in my mouth



in a cave


the remains

of tiny toads


the little bones

in my ears





jagged sky

above the canyon


a crack in the egg



the sky’s blue gong an orange in my hand




Ornithopter Press 2016


PAUL M. ant ant ant ant ant seven

March 16, 2016 § 2 Comments



fast river
white seeds
cross without me


chance of showers
a frayed rope
linking the mules


redwood stumps
some color
left in the sky


winter pruning
she changes
away from the window


snow outside
everyone else rises
to receive the host


hard winter ground
we argue about
the constellations


this year’s paintbrush
a path between
granite moraines


meeting the neighbors
the shapes of things
hidden by snow


warring countries
in the botanical garden


spring buds
the creek over boulders
of every size


snow-capped peaks
loom across the border
a favorable exchange rate


seventh full moon
men at the bar
watching the door


string from
a pigeon’s foot
March wind


talk of rain
I find myself
in the old neighborhood


first sunburn
an ant
on the lily arrangement


returning warmth
the first bird
into the house


war in the news
new leaves on a tree
my grandfather planted


summer dusk
the awkwardness
of a first guest


manzanita lanterns
a whole day
for idleness


distant thunder
the pigeon coop


flowering maple
the gait of horses
after a long winter


rustling grass
bundle of letters
from an old lover


earthquake weather
the pliant body
of a sea cucumber


heat wave
I count
the remaining eggs


red maple leaves
a mosquito bite
scratched open


winter nears
a beach full of shells
no two the same


crescent moon
a homeless man
asks about Bob


chill in the air
fire-blackened needles
still on the pine


winter night
a hard crumb
under the sheet


even after a snowfall
a gap in the wall
from a missing stone




EVE LUCKRING ant ant ant ant ant xiii

September 24, 2015 § Leave a comment

from Fifty-Three Divided by Seven or Eight


a zero sum coyote, probable rain ≥ attitude + eucalyptus


‹ itch relief. scavenging ≥ a candybar wrapper in scat


› a stranger blowing me kisses ≤ a stone’s hold


› unsystematically fluttering blackbirds but they’re not


› uninvited. a wasp lays eggs


close-captioned women who set themselves on fire


≥ a behavioral problem in the bathroom ≤ anti-


≥ a glance back ‹ their full upright and locked positions


≥ loosened for the ride › peaked. a heart with wings


dusk fallen down on her luck bags inside bags inside bags ≥




August 30, 2015 § Leave a comment

the crow gives away all his buttons




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