March 31-April 6, 2003: Andrew J. Kearl and Lee Kitzis

week of March 31-April 6, 2003



Andrew J Kearl and Lee Kitzis


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Andrew J Kearl
thebub80_@hotmail.com

Bio (auto)

My name is Andrew J Kearl and I am a writing student attending the University of Redlands, where I will be graduating from this fall I’m originally from Portland, Oregon where I grew up reading and writing poetry for as long as I can remember Since my time at Redlands, I have been very involved in the Southern California writing scene and admire poets like David St John, Ralph Angel, B.H Fairchild, and Cecilia Wolach.

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

Milk

I
“Don’t forget to buy the milk,”
you say as you write it on your shopping list
not allowing your hand to shake
not allowing the alarms to burn
then swell like oceans in your ears You ignore the tidal wave before you open the door
“The gas masks are on the counter, dear,”
your wife whispers with a trembling chin–
scorched and blinded eyes “My cereal is no good dry “

You step off your porch with your head in your hands
holding tears like luggage

II
On the sidewalk,
your grocery list reflects the tails of missiles÷
electronic aurora borealis
dancing to the drum beat,
the machine gun fire
And the missiles on TV were lean, slick,
aerodynamic
and were displayed like new cars÷
the price tag hidden in the explosion
And you remember the reporter
watching them detonate,
convulsing orgasmically,
and how you cringed at the white
semen stains on your television screen
As you move, you look down
The missile is written in red
at the bottom of your shopping list
as you walk across severed limbs
on your way to the market

III
In your head,
cows are stabbing each other
with left over pieces
of a barbed wire fence
You remember how thirsty you are
“Don’t forget the milk,” you tell yourself
as the sirens stop
and the sky illuminates and falls down
like burning white liquid.


Lee Kitzis
NickArson@aol.com

Bio (auto)

I am a graduate of the Chicago Academy for the Arts  I am currently pursuing my B.A in magazine journalism at Columbia College Chicago I have been performing and publishing my poetry for over seven years (since the age of 14)  At 15 I edited and was published in the Anti-mensch poetry anthology (Puddin’head Press, Chicago)  Since then I have had my poetry published in numerous periodicals, such as: After Hours, Flipside, Big Pen, U-DirectChicagopoetry.comComrades e-zineEcho, and the Columbia Chronicle I have had one book published, Plainfield Follies and Israel to Prague Poems (Writers Club Press, 2000), and one chapbook published, Jazzmen (Big Pen Press, 2002) I am currently living in Oak Park, IL.

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

Austin Boulevard in April

A crucifix

high in
the cold
gray clouds

A poor
man walks
through
puddles
past the
porno bookstore

Observations on Lake Street

Sun bursts
off of willow
snow

An old woman
at peace
on a lot
bench across
from Calvary
Church buses

Bright jogging
suit and big
thick gleaming
glasses

contemplates
the sun

deep meditation

Brunette
sweet assed
stacks the
coffee

across the
street gang
of little
girls burst
from Fannie
May excited
at new candy
as if committed
robbery and
pile into dark
red minivan

Bad hard
rock ten-in-a-row
radio blasts
from plumbers
van

He enjoying
the hot
day because
all he
needs is
the window
rolled down
and that radio

The dentist
sips a mocha
tries to
make conversation
w/ petite beauty
dark haired
in tank top
worried because
boyfriend not
around

but he
just wanting
to make
conversation

Thick black
woman w/
yin-yang
tattoo checks
the Sun-Times
dispenser

more killers
plots

Sitting in Union Station Waiting for the Train to Ann Arbor

The downstairs
bar’s dimly lit
w/ pictures of
old trains vintage
pay toilet 5¢ signs
and Royal Crown
Cola ads the
regulars pounding
their hands on the
bar talking about
ass kickings

The last wail
of sappy music
from above

Old businessmen
everyday Metra
riders meeting up
for their pint and
nowhere stories big
Texas toothed grins
and harsh phlegmy
laughs the ones
that say I voted
for Nixon

“So I got into a
fight w/ my
daughter,” he says

“I’ve got a story
for you when you
come back,” he says

The other laughing

staggering away
giggling maniacally
in a Frankenstein walk

Ten bucks says he
pisses on the seat

Tollway 294

It’s when
the rain
clouds look
this ominous
that I
start to
believe in
heaven

A million
angels dying
in Indiana

under sleepy
black and white
Zenith signs
and anti-smoking
billboards

pretty faces
torn by
advertisements
Gary antennas
airplanes death
on the radio
sardine can
trucks and
satellites

mindless
town homes

identical
corporate
buildings

metal fences
as far
as the eye
can see
going 70
down the
expressway

the same
deadpan voice
on the radio
discussing
sexual priests
and bombs in
the Middle
East

Construction
and pickup
trucks w/
toxic drums

smokestacks
ejaculate in
my eye