% bolgia of poetry
          "I do not know myself and God forbid that I should."
                            J.W. von Goethe.

                                   I am

                             I am what I am
                               a man(iac)
                               Am I evil?
                                yes I am
                            because I am man
                               What am I?
                            None of the above
                               I am what?
                            my eyes, my eyes
                       the burning in my inseyedes
                         pebble on a shorelessea
                            rocked to and fro
                             for all to see
                                 CrI ng
                         the tears from my eyes
                                 _. . ._
                           lost the motherland
                           forever despeyesed
                                  dI ng
                           soldier of fortune
                            student of wisdom
                          vampire in the night
                           cloaked from vision

[-thumper: kkim@student.wesleyan.edu]

"what a foolish mailer"

then they lie
it's the truth
in the skin
it's the lie
in the skin
subvert the soul

forty shrikes and leeches clawed
out the soul of the misbegotten man
blasted by the sand of the dunes
and the sun of the lie,
finally screamed fuck it and shot
sixty grams of pure street smack
into his aorta.

somewhere in chicago,
an E string broke on a secondhand guitar.

label the guilty
forgive the label

thymotic sense denied
decision which deride
in turn confusion at the thought
a choice is isolation

[-sven: goatlord@hallucinogenic.com]

"clay figurines"

While clawing my way through this maze
I find myself in a daze
The man without a heart
Clay figurines blown apart
The twilight mercenaries grind on
Eliciting an undulating cry by dawn
The dream ends the night gone
Yet the cry persists to echo on
Oh-how I live a secluded life
Striving to break free of all this strife
Let the masquerade end
The masks torn off, the smiling faces descend
Spiraling downward into the madness, never to mend

[-thumper: kkim@student.wesleyan.edu]

"line tension"

ahhhh damnit gotta go atm.
just had 40 eating out too much
where're my keys? desk no dresser
no pocket
light lock it lts go.
sunglasses! forget it

ahh no ticket sweeeet
twenty thousand! god
getting old new oil
shit that's 20.
maybe 60 new sonic youth
newyork dark shades
black old vans jeans t
go! please go!
the trees! spring grass
orange poppies more ya
roses? na daisies
thats 12 ahh hell
gotta get a


[-altars of madness:dsaltarelli@alphie.claremont.edu]

"ground", A.Y.8

I put my face to the ground and scream
        there is no sound echoed back but what originates with me
                the ground is silent

I climb on a rock and scream at the ground
        the sound flies free for a moment before the ground swallows the vibe
                the ground is silent

I climb to the top of the tree and scream
        there is nothing to see, but the absence of vibrations is startling
                the ground is silent

I climb a hill and lay on my back
        the sky observes my rest and reflects my nature; it carries it downward
                the ground is silent

I remove myself from the earth
        there was no one to talk to, no one to converse
                the ground was silent.



What am I?
I am the fuel
I am the fire
I am the burning desire
I am the nightmare of your life
I am the fear that keeps you up all night
I am the shadow that you cannot see
I am all there is, you are me.
What am I?. . . a dream I
Dream into reality I
Become the basis for morality
Actions become words
Mimes make sense
Acting out the silent pain of death



Cleansed by your clarion call
I breathe and I scream



beet poetry at its best
poq whoq whaq slaq smaq
wow--way-0, man, that's
scary like a bogeyman's
abandoned gauntlet in a
small car by a side rd.
scareful like children-
unleashed from adultish
thinking.   scary again
like all them out there
a million eyes waiting,
watching, whispering, &
scorning us of distant-
minded absentness.orare
we all them moons? left
skyward, eyesome, alone

"signal noise"

sort of like
in the morn of it all
my hand is wrinkled beneath salt water
waves pass smoothly over skin
eyes pass slowly down the beachline
horizon moving like a slow nun.
and then the breeze
soft slapping wind
water stops to brush the shore
people turn to stare and stare
water curses those who live
youthful in the stunning sun
in the ocean of my latent birth
my hand once more passes through a wave
catching single golden hairs
passing through the growing wrinkles
the aging of the sun
defies the day
begin again insurgent thing
cleft leave me
dawning shimmering
riplets like wrinkles
scar the sky.