Word/ For Word # 2

Karen Garthe




      I           An animal at whose Mercy and Tragic as Flags

                 Were lying without love and unborn running, were

                 ash-blinded over and over

                                   here to there.


                         and over the rowing time of natural strain.

                 Out of the Underground,

                         the Warehouse whose mercy trips.

                 The sharp corners in awful sections,

                 bonfires around.

        II    This is not an art talk but a collection

               of personal significant moments

               interminably interesting space Instead

                           of a lecture…

                                     Here We Are Slides Elsewhere,

               Mystery Begins With Exactitude and no special lenses:

                                     Charleston (2001)

                                     Barcelona ('94)

                           the girl on the right

                           is Sharon and the person with the cup's

               A Shepherd.

               Radical chaos and the rooms where people love.

      III.    Old turbines including Aphrodite

               An animal at whose mercy were sand cast in

                           Bronze, Bronze

                                     To the idea of Survival and Tragic as Flags. . .

                       begins like dough running lava-like

                           in the foundry.

                           A husk to fill with

                           forms over and over.






                                               stolen car


            Once was a queen and he didn't deserve cruel treatment isn't strained
                                      "I can stop with you in these,
                          the rattyboats I won't speak again of
                          Cage    Salve"
            haggle what's been put up or taken of the mirrors
            We're searching for water     by the sound of it

            Isn't strained
                          was a Queen coin tossing
            it landed, what he startled had been so sweetly without him

            is the dare we're passing

            the most stolen car in The City of I






                  Mi Amiga does
                       "La Lupe"


                  Mi Amiga behind me or beside me     is the least brick Of This

                  Savage n' Mediocre

                  Bare cement   Railsplits of a

                                                     low jazz estimate

                          cost of raising Calvary

                  Light strays over Mi Amiga

                                      Mystic ultimatums srutinize

                                      Reprise: The Face is beckoning so. . .

                                      Mi Amiga does "La Lupe" in the covenant


                  And loosens of fraud

                  Dignity Mi Amiga drops

                  to one knee and arraigns

                  Her Compassions


                  Her flags tombstone white






                                    Your Images


                             the singer's archaic sheets of hair

                         the breadcrumbs necessary

                 to the cults of transformation's

            everywhere struggles   like tea infusing. . .like "unclean thoughts"


                 Your Images

            there in the mind's cave of permanent beauty whose drinks are always


                             the Body Rules that don't understand

                    who's been singled out. . .

            pain works



                             drives or measly reaching

                         to Your Images

            bulbed divided glorioso

            untamed fiddling and formal gestures






from "The Dirty Notes"


                            King's English


                                      Ere & before     Saxon
                                                           save & except     Romance

                                               King me!
                                           I'm telling you slipshod.
                                                       -- It's more than wonderful
                                                    malaprop in the ascendancy

                        We suggest that lies between six & ten reverential objections

                                                                      So much is clear. . .
                                                           Sr. Ganganelli would never
                        have been poisoned
                        provided the surface & the underlying meaning were the same. . . "If"

                                                                 is a small district in the kingdom




[contributors' notes]