little white poetry journal four

8/14/2019 little white poetry journal four

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!


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this is a relic ofthe war for total liberation

which took place within theFall of Authortarian Whores

in the Fall of 2006

ISSUE FOUR


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subscriptions are a painin the ass because theinvisible undergroundremains unreliable. re-

gardless of all that, wehave one subscriber, M.Frias-May, and he willreceive his copies. assoon as possible. thingsare a bit in disarraybut the press will win

the government. its abeautiful thing. not onemore penny to a wareconomy. anyways. iwant you to keep inmind the purpose of allthis white space. it is so

you can add your ownpoetry, doodles, andso forth, and pass yourcopy on to someoneyou care about. loveleers even. poetry wasa language of love, for

a time on this savagedearth, and still is, evenin its worst parts. inspi-rational drugs are theonly ones we should beusing anymore. i dontbelieve you are real.


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lile white poetry journal

DP0600P4D

issue number four

henry chalisepress.litdispatch.net/hc


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i figure people still dont under-stand. i am a serious advocateof the gi economy.crimethinc.com wont hand us

any support but they are still avery brilliant project. thanks.

hc


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i put a hamster suit

on a grenadeby Tao Lin

i wear bullet-proof ear muffs

i put machine guns in homeless peoples little cups

a blueberry sucks my head off and eats my arms

you just rubbed a hecatomb on my face

i will sleep inside a muffin

everything good is impossible

because life is cruel and meaningless


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franks & beans

by Rebecca Schumejda

cook over low heatwhile we go over

the day, a stack of billspushed aside,

shuffled cards,spicy mustard,

brown sugar added

before cutting the deck,I consider presentation:

bone china or plastic bowls?the discrepancy betweenthe sensessight versus

tastecolor versus texture.

Gin, I drop 4-7 clubsthree Queens

think about the drinkpoured over iced cubes,

cracking

five days sober.

You deal.I fold napkinsinto origami swans,set one spoon to the leftof each birds wing


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while your pupilswander back and forthacross the possibilities

For eight years now,youve by-passed the ladlepoured directly from potinto bowls, set aside cardswhistling your dinner cool

your eyes, routinesthat havent changed;

but tonight, the fifth nighttheyre blue, theyre so

clear blue, they make methirsty.


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after the revolution

by David Rovics

It was a time Ill always rememberBecause I could never forgetHow reality fell down around usLike some Western movie setAnd once the dust all settledThe sun shone so brightAnd a great calm took over us

Like it was all gonna be alrightThats how it felt to be aliveAfter the revolution

From Groton to TacomaOn many a factory floorThe workers talked of solidarity

And refused to build weapons of warNo more will we make missilesWere gonna do something differentAnd for the first timeTheir children were proud of their parentsAnd somewhere in Gaza a little boy smiled and criedAfter the revolution

Prison doors swung openAnd mothers hugged their sonsThe Liberty Bell was ringingWhen the cops put down their gunsA million innocent people

Lit up in the springtime air

note:thiesearesonglyricsbyaworld-

travellingradical.youcanlistentoall

ofhismusicathttp://soundclick.com/

davidrovics.


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And Mumia and Leonard and Sarah Jane OlsonTook a walk in Tompkins SquareAnd they talked about what theyd do nowAfter the revolution

The debts were all forgivenIn all the neo-coloniesAnd the soldiers left their basesWent back to their familiesAnd a non-aggression treatyWas signed with every sovereign stateAnd all the terrorist groups disbanded

With no empire left to hateAnd they all started planting olive treesAfter the revolution

George Bush and Henry KissingerWere sent off to the World CourtTheir plans for global domination

Were pre-emptively cut shortTheir weapons of mass destructionWere inspected and destroyedThe battleships were dismantledNever again to be deployedAnd the world breathed a sigh of reliefAfter the revolution

Solar panels were on the rooftopsTrains upon the tracksOrganic food was in the marketsNo GMOs upon the racksAnd all the billionairesHad to learn how to shareAnd Bill Gates was told to quit his whining


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When he said it wasnt fairAnd his mansion became a collective farmAfter the revolution

And all the political poets

Couldnt think of what to saySo they all decidedTo live life for todayI spent a few years catching upWith all my friends and loversSleeping til elevenHome beneath the covers

And I learned how to play the accordianAfter the revolution


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the livings roomby Rebecca Schumejda

Eventually, I will quit or

swap one for another,

following the law of

addiction conservation.

Orange juice chases vodka

like regrets trail my words.What I didnt say, heavier

than this rooms still air

dank from all the lives

whose feet abandoned

squeaky floor boards.

I press greasy fingertipsagainst the brassy moment

of an antique lamp and

the faithfulness of walls.

Eventually, all ceilings sag

the weight of the living

on top of the dead.Does everyone lead

with their right? I ask

my husband, over

and over again, until

he looks up from


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his thoughts. Thats like

asking what came first

the chicken or the egg, hesays to stop the echo

thats become my voice.One of the fruit flies desertsthe flock, circling the rottingpeaches in the kitchen,to see what all the noiseis about. I envy its courage,until it lands on my glass.

This is my room, I tell it

pushing it in. I watch it hangonto pulp for a few momentsbefore finishing my drink.


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some notes

like the fuck-up that I am, Ihave made some mistakes.

James Lineberger was not the only

poet in little white poetry jour-nal III, I have not yet managedto get contributor copies out.

I was in jail. I went through theentire system and came back out.all of this happened within themonth of September, but its beena long time coming.

time for the people of the worldto rule it. if the cost is mylife, that is what will be paid.

Ellen Parker & Don Swartzentruberwere not properly credited fortheir work. Dons makes up thecovers of this very issue,Ellens was the cover of III,and P. H. Madores photo DoomedCats is what we have on the sec-

ond page of this one.I hope this makes up for myassholery.

also. as if this doesnt go with-out saying. the artists willkill you if rip them off anddont bother to credit them. whyshouldnt they?


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(letter space)

little white poetry journal four

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