Former editor of the poetry syndicate Spiral Chambers, Peter (repsisk@aol.com) is the founder of PSK Publishing and editor of Nation magazine (not "The Nation" or "Industrial Nation," nor "Improvijazation Nation"). Author of a chapbook "Diaries: Emotions of a Twin Polar



"Macy's Story"



Frank walked out of class one morning
Angela never returned
Ted fled town
Jim holed himself in a distant hotel
Mike learned microbiology
Shelley found Buddhism
Kristy unlocked the secrets of metaphysics
Tyrone found himself
Joy took a walk one night
Fritz saw a star that bled
Mindy comforted a broken bird
Sam made no promises
Jean had no sex
Juanita kissed the daybreak
Calasandra touched a cord on an obscure instrument
Charles refused to define the twilight
Art brewed coffee the next morning
Jen stared at the paper
Mark wrote letters home
Emanuel talked about returning
Virginia packed back up
Leo started the engine
Stan stopped the car
Kelly hugged her friends
Clyde seemed so different
Martha taught trust
Betty spoke of when she was gone
Autumn looked reformed
Peter stood serene
Scott befriended Alex
Calasandra met Frank
Plato walked into the sunset
Amy took off running
Jeremiah turned the lights down low
Berry sang a song that was silent
Tracy transcribed sheet music from thin air
Grace danced to the beat.









"Satan's Chia-Pet"


Lost snow-flakes
In the shape of corn-flakes
Pelt the hide of a Dutch naturalist
Who believes in Seurat
And douses himself with dots of Whiteout
Or was it milk?

Four men named Mike
Three with the last name of Wilson
Delay reading verse
>From the Book of Satan
It's the Charles Manson edition
Bound with a stitch of time
Satan's words colored in Red

Half an ounce of white wine leaks from a glass
The concrete absorbs every drop
Then the sun rises
The bricks shrivel into raisins
Dancing salaciously through rubber flames

Somewhere there's a tree
A paper mill
A guy named Robyn
A girl named Robin
A credit union
Soy ink
And fifty-thousand dollars from my ex-
Laundromat
All the quarters were stuck
Now they're offering refunds.



"Chalk Body"



A blemish rose into a volcano
Then one day it popped
A trickle of blood
Cascading into the bucket
One drop unto another
First the blood burned
Blue went it then
And ice was not cold
Creativity followed
Lunging purposely and polydirectionally
Etching Tarkay heads in the pools of purple
Devotion crept out into the stream
Clustering
Dispersing
Channeling and dividing partitioned features
Love started seeping
Drip by drop
Following devotion's lead
Running haphazardly around weather-worn lips
Dissolving prior to
But not before intellect coalesces
Releasing liquid vitamins
Showering the purple
Blue mess
Splotches praying to insecure fluorescence
Humanity, logic, reason
Skulking amongst the single trickle
Descending casually
Waxing the nose
Splashing autonomously in the bucket
The manikin feigns a smile
Almost a grin
Remains calm
Resting with one natural arm
Its head an oval
Pale white
Angular indentations severe
The paint stirs
Sloshing upon the iron bucket handles
Penetrating the wood
Dribbling
Coloring microorganisms buried in the earth.




Peter Kowalke

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