IN LOVE WITH YOUR LIPS AND IN LOVE WITH YOUR BELLY’S WHITE WARMTH, 0 HUMAN – 0 ANIMAL « HEAVENLY SCREWED LITTLE GIRL… »

Beatnik" poet Ray BREMSER on the fire escape of Alan Ginsberg's apartment in the East Village, NYC, 1959. Photo: Burt Glinn In love with your lips and in love with your belly's white warmth, 0 human - 0 animal "heavenly screwed little girl - in love with your crying's pure succulent salt of the heart - hot heart …

STOLE A CAR IN DENVER JUST TO HEAR IT SQUEAL

Neal Cassady & Charles Plymell, 1963 SONG FOR NEAL CASSADY, BY CHARLES PLYMELL –For John CassadyOh really really Nealhis first love was the automobile Drove a ‘34 Ford with suicide doorsand stick shift on the floorDraggin’ down main to Colfax Avenue Jumpin’ in the back seat boulevardkicked back watching asses in the rearviewcruising past the …

RIVULETS OF TRICKLING ECSTASY FROM THE ALABASTER POOLS OF JAZZ

Ted Croner Music from her breast, vibratingSoundseared into burnished velvet.Silent hips deceiving fools.Rivulets of trickling ecstacyFrom the alabaster pools of JazzWhere music cools hot souls.Eyes more articulately silentThan Medusa's thousand tongues.A bridge of eyes, consenting smilesreveal her presence singingOf cool remembrance, happy ballsWrapped in swingingJazzHer music...Jazz. Poem: "jazz chick" by BOB KAUFMAN

DAWN – DIONYSIAC CHRONICLES FROM THE HÔTEL LA LOUISIANE BY HENRIK AESHNA/EROS EN FEU

"i'm screaming, i met you this wayyou're nice to me like iceplease, please, Baby Lemonade" - Syd Barrett, "Baby Lemonade" …& yr pink lagunas in the sky at dawn like a timeless south american landscapeyr quivering fingers stained w/ nicotine & orgasmyr insomniac flowers's eyes still dripping w/ last nite's dreamsyr morning breath sprouting from …

I AM NOTHING I WANT EVERYTHING 1 – DIONYSIAC CHRONICLES FROM THE HÔTEL LA LOUISIANE BY HENRIK AESHNA/EROS EN FEU

i am nothing i want everything - wine visions love sex ecstasy - the hotel room fills up with foreign chants - i've no idea where i am but the strange certainty i am a coal-seam fire in the dark playing russian roulette with Time over a bottle of rouge cigarettes old divorces & memorable …

EXPERIMENTAL POETRY: JÓZSEF BÍRÓ – MINAMOSOGNO, an irregular mini – opera in three acts / movements (HUNGARIAN/ENGLISH)

JÓZSEF BÍRÓ MINAMOSOGNO an irregular mini – opera in three acts / movements ( - in memory of János Pilinszky - ) ( prologue ) luggage lamented pawnshop wondering tile unlimited saved obligee’s plotting mutates bride in-milk specious wealthy square-built salt-idol lynx-eyed merciful revolutionary informal disadvantages rifle MINAMOSOGNO rendhagyó mini – opera egy felvonásban / …

CLAUDE PÉLIEU: JE SUIS UN CORPS NU…

Photographie: Claude Pélieu par Lu Pélieu (Archives) INDIGO EXPRESS La couleur soulève les montagnes, déplace les océans, remue les cieux. La couleur sur le verglas noir bénit le passager de pluie, rebâtit le paysage, débris calcinés d’une époque qui n’a pas existé, la couleur s’étend sur chaque ville, charriant cris & rires, aspergeant tout, puis s’en retourne aux yeux de tous dans le lit défait du ciel.  Les romans-photos grouillent de …

PARIS POETS: RICHARD WRIGHT – A POEM BY STEVE DALACHINSKY

richard wright stuck in the corner by the staircase in black face & gold letters with cobwebs 52 yrs. an exiled native son oh black boy i place a paper flower beside your square. steve dalachinsky written at Pere Lachaise cemetery 8/01 where Wright's ashes are interred. Steve Dalachinsky (born 1946) is a New York downtown …

JIM… JIM MORRISON – UN POÈME DE GERARD MALANGA (TRADUIT DE L’ANGLAIS PAR HENRIK AESHNA)

Original photos: Jim Morrison by Joel Brodski / Gerard Malanga (Gerard Malanga Archives) JIM... JIM MORRISON On a dit plus d'une fois que Jim a volé mon look, mes pantalons en cuir, le musc. J'ai perdu le compte. mais cela n'est pas vrai. son visage était rond; les contours du mien plutôt anguleux, si je …

VIOLATED PARADISE: THE FORENSIC PLEASURES OF A PLASTIC MADONNA, BY PETER MARRA

The Forensic Pleasures of a Plastic Madonna Prologue: she hears the Broken Girls of Magick Street singing in the abandoned theater watching the earliest surviving pornographic film “I don’t know what I’m going to do Lord I don’t know. I can’t see…. I….” knives flashed behind her retinas as she applied eyeliner and mascara preparing …

PARIS POETS: PARIS IN THE AFTERLIFE, BY ANTONIA ALEXANDRA KLIMENKO

Paris in the Afterlife  In my dream I am always in Paris just as the undergarments of her city  slip slowly from view    Here   the smoke is violet and thick with steam  rising from lovers partings on railroad platforms and under moonlit bridges   To the left and right  her voluptuous pillows--soft and yielding… …