February 24-March 2, 2003: Alison Daniel and Alex Gildzen

week of February 24-March 2, 2003



Alison Daniel and Alex Gildzen


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Alison Daniel
lucrezia11@hotmail.com

Bio (auto)

I live in Tasmania, Australia My work has been published in Tryst, Pierian Springs, Eleven Bulls, The Absinthe Literary Review, August Cutter, Junket, ibodi and many other fine journals.

The following work is Copyright © 2003, and owned by Alison Daniel and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.

The Practice of Self-Mutilation

The bath water could have been rose water
or some exotic ingredient as rare as the evening
before summer bled wisteria petals and jasmine
scented air into the house that felt like home
when you played spin the bottle on the lacquered
floor, when you drank enough to strip your cotton
t-shirt and all I smelt was freshly soaped skin
mingling where my fingers met the contours of
muscles packed tighter than the way you grinned,
already aware of 100 different strategies
a cut could meet You abdomen was scarred
like a faraway look trapped in constellations
from another galaxy.

The Practice of Anaesthetizing

The tendency to fabricate an answer is called
confabulation which is not the same as reduplication
although I remember it didn’t matter how similar
circumstances were placed side by side like the time
you cuddled into my back, said, ‘let me warm you’,
how it always meant sex without seeing your face
so you never knew the girl who begged
you to stray while I wondered how long it would take
to think about playing her against me was perhaps
your first mistake So many alibis smoothed
your loose tongue but it wasn’t until your frontal
lobe flipped out to space that I knew the odds
were against you ever telling the truth.

The Practice of Walking with the Dead

Please don’t say this is a transitional phase
when you dance like a thief eating
coconut meat from the local mall
and please don’t say it’s about All Soul’s
Day just because I went to mass the
morning before a visit to the cemetery It helped me to pray unmistakable
gyrations would shake lips so silent
about sacrificing a pair of doves I’ve already lit sticky beeswax tapers
to illuminate the prophecy of your face If I soak a cross in rum, I imagine you’d drum
voodoo love until day breaks without
reasons you didn’t mean ceremonial white
would disguise the night I’m your bride
lying naked on an impromptu altar.


The Practice of Gathering Clues

Who are you tonight
you cleanly shave face staring back at me
when I step into the steam
and inhale the slap of after-shave
the sting of seeing you sharply dressed
as if the glint of treachery will be the last
light I’ll see when you leave
before tears turn into angry shouts
like a fist banging the wall
or the way you slam the door
the car keys flung in your hand
as you race to caress her hair after kissing
her open mouth so tenderly
I could almost forgive you
for being just like me.


Alex Gildzen
takis@cybermesa.com

Bio (auto)

Alex Gildzen lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico Visit his website here: www.cybermesa.com/~takis

The following work is Copyright © 2003, and owned by Alex Gildzen and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.

A Novel Valentine

twelve sailors all in blue
half a dozen curious chauffeurs
the Chinese doctor
broke into their ballades

their molecules shuttled to and fro
smelling in the dark for the blood
floods of blood

the truck driver sings
of gingersnaps
a red nylon posing strap
a piece of fabric from a silk umbrella
the celluloid rustling of insects
100’s of love letters

piano keys wrinkle
navigating us safely to our beds

note:
the lines of this poem were borrowd from the following novels (in order of appearance):

Nightwood
The Great Gatsby
Genoa
Ladies of the Rachmanioff Eyes
Ulysses
Moby Dick
Mrs Dalloway
The Grapes of Wrath
The Day of the Locusts
The Exquisite Corpse
Confederacy of Dunces
The Asiatics
Tha Black Dahlia
Malcolm
Nocturnes for the King of Naples