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| "Tracings" by Sandy Beach "The Seer on the Wooden Pillar" by Paul Belz "The World Made from Cacophany" by Paul Belz "Unrequited" by John Birkbeck "Silence" by Curtis Church "In Paradise" by Rosemarie Crisafi "Just a Walk in the Park" by F. Anthony D'Alessandro "Columbus Circle Crooner" by F. Anthony D'Alessandro "Lobster Duck" by F. Anthony D'Alessandro "Sloppy Hair in Sunset Years" by F. Anthony D'Alessandro "Logarithms" by Tony D'Arpino "Lila" by Adriana DiGennaro "A Year of Mourning" by Ruth Dombrow "Conversations with a Naked Ascetic" by Alison Eastley "The Book of Scorpio" by Alison Eastley "Cloud Formations" by Rich Ives "Infancy" by Edith Kur "Hunt, 1831" by Joanne Lowery "Cold Turkey" by Joanne Lowery "Clark Gable as Muse" by Joanne Lowery "Accident in 16 Parts" by Joanne Lowery "Little Pears" by Joanne Lowery "After We Bought a Computer in 1996" by Shawn McLain "Seven Blind Men and the Elephant" by Ram Mehta "What I Want" by Corey Mesler "Stagnation" by Samia Ouederni "On The Walls:" by Marissa Ranello "Urban Cycle" by Marissa Ranello "Midnight Shift" by Cortny Riblett "Thief" by Cortny Riblett "When the Beach is Mine Alone" by Harding Stedler "Enter Stage Left" by Harding Stedler "Superman and Darlene Smith" by Deborah Stinson "Per-millennial Skyline" by Elizabeth Kate Switaj "Under the Umbrella" by Sara Toruno |
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| The World Made from Cacophany |
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| Jazz mountains, what's your key?
Your time signature's forgotten. Nobody counts your rhythm, and you got No traceable melody. You're improvised rock formations You leap from G to F to C Minor Sustained In eight measures. These mountains dance. Rings of cinnamon colored boulders Are made smooth by the endless wind. They are unrecognized faces. Some are elves, High foreheads weathered flat, filled with sparkling granite. Some are cobra's heads, with only one eye socket. Euclid would go mad here. Inverted bowls made from rock Landed everywhere. They're made, it seems from melted wax like candles that melted and flowed like mineral tears. Then grew solid. They are gray at noon. Did they drip down From the Oort cloud and land tenderly on this sand filled place Among snowy peaks? This desert leaps from the key of F To G sustained to E in six measures. Tall granite slabs Got slashed by wind into smooth blocks. They're not quite Rectangles. No one can count their sides. Their angles bend And refuse to be measured. They crack, and suspend boulders In their cracks. They lean forward and away, ready to crash But frozen still, like sax players just before their first notes, Their undefined melody. Euclid would go mad here, Where the word shape means nothing. Quarter triangles merge With semi circles. Chunks of ovals link ovals, solidified Between steps. Arches have empty centers. This is the silence Where everything stops, half a measure where there's nothing To hear. Euclid would go mad here, where nothing Stays predictable. The sun and darkness, its lover Paint the rocks cinnamon and tan in the morning. All is gold by noon. The sun flees its own heat and fly To the west. It leaves a rose sky at dusk. Night answers With azul, a color more resonant than blue. Then all The rocks turn black and silent. But Orion above Dances their ever changing songs In this temple of the real. Joshua Tree National Park 12/02 |
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