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

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-Direct, Chicagopoetry.com, Comrades e-zine, Echo, 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