shine out in the wild kindness


Lucas Samaras, untitled work for Allan Kaprow, 2006

Scrambled Eggs and Whiskey
-- by Hayden Carruth

Scrambled eggs and whiskey
in the false-dawn light. Chicago,
a sweet town, bleak, God knows,
but sweet. Sometimes. And
weren't we fine tonight?
When Hank set up that limping
treble roll behind me
my horn just growled and I
thought my heart would burst.
And Brad M. pressing with the
soft stick and Joe-Anne
singing low. Here we are now
in the White Tower, leaning
on one another, too tired
to go home. But don't say a word,
don't tell a soul, they wouldn't
understand, they couldn't, never
in a million years, how fine,
how magnificent we were
in that old club tonight.


On Gifts For Grace
-- by Bernadette Mayer

I saw a great teapot
I wanted to get you this stupendous
100% cotton royal blue and black checked shirt,
There was a red and black striped one too
Then I saw these boots at a place called Chuckles
They laced up to about two inches above your ankles
All leather and in red, black or purple
It was hard to have no money today
I won't even speak about the possible flowers and kinds of lingerie
All linen and silk with not-yet-perfumed laces
Brilliant enough for any of the Graces
Full of luxury, grace notes, prosperousness and charm
But I can only praise you with this poem—
Its being is the same as the meaning of your name


Unusual Figures
-- by Barbara Guest

A person stands in the doorway. Someone
else goes to greet him.
They establish a calendar of meetings,
apricot color.
Once they arrived together
in a cab
of electricity,
cool heat, desert air.
The author attaches herself
to those figures
peculiar to her asking.
They are needed by the pageant of creativity!
The usual height and
dots of activeness.
Is it from the basket shrub?
Lightness of feet,
circle of grey, of green overlap.
What language
do they speak?