July 13-19, 1998: E.C. Archibeque and Steve Jacoby

Week of July 13, 1998-July 19, 1998

E.C Archibeque and Steve Jacoby

E.C Archibeque


Carlye Archibeque is so busy reviews editing for Next , associate editing for 51%, writing for Sic Vice and Verse and making the world safe for cats everywhere that she does not have time to write a bio.

P.S She has appeared in Blue Satellite, Spillway, Social Anarchy, Alphabeat Soup, as well as the old icky newprint Caffeine and the new slick Caffeine Anthology, Scream While You Burn.

The following work is Copyright © 1998, and owned by
E.C Archibeque and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.

Dry Goods
for my mother

She lines the kitchen walls
with expectations
holds her criticisms
like eggshells
and throws them
like bricks
She carpets the house
with cats and dogs
adopted for the virtue
of their long childhoods

She couldn’t bring herself
to believe
what her friend had done
to me
and once she did
dismissed it with the logic
of her Georgia Peach upbringing
“He was black, she said, “do you know
how much trouble that would,ve caused?

She folds her dreams like fresh linen
stores them in a cupboard beneath her heart
turns them sour with disuse
breathes in the smell like opium, “I knew it, she says
“all good things turn in the end and them she begins to sing and moan

On my bad days
the moans sing through my head
in Calypso rhythms
and I try to peel the blame from my skin
with the sharp tones of her distant humming

On good days she sings so well
I understand her intent, retain my sanity
and don’t mind so much when her words
run through my head
in my own voice


He was there when I expelled the fetus
.woman explaining her boyfriends support during her abortion

.we would call your parents to pick you up
.but you have none
.you have no home
.you have no country


.this type of behavior will not be tolerated
.unsolicited cell division
.unsupported claims of life
.you must leave this place


.you may not speak we know best
.your silence betrays
.your lack of humanity
.just as we expected


.do not darken our doorstep again
.your time here is ended
.this is all we have to say
.your education is finished


Love Never

Love never sleeps

it hides in the shimmer
of candlelight and cathode rays

no hero, arriving
just in time, stealthy

a disorganized killer
using weapons of convenience

the back of a hand or
a carving knife

so recently used to chop
a tomato for the dinner salad

Steve Jacoby


Steve Jacoby did not include a bio with his submission though he does describe himself on one of his web oages as “The Last Natural Philosopher ” I’m sure he is a certain age and lives in a certain city He probably also has been involved with certain things Of none of this am I certain.

The following work is Copyright © 1998, and owned by
Steve Jacoby and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.

A Little Love Song to Baghdad

Baghdad, princess, now my heart is yours
Today and forever, while the savage rave,
I lay upon your breast ny patriot’s shame;
I swear to you on murdered Lincoln’s grave My sweet, strong sisters and my brothers,
Here take I the high oath of the jihad;
Soul-struggle of the righteous fighters,
The spirit-war we hailed at Leningrad
Baghdad, wronged Baghdad, I lay my pen
On your twice-violated altar;
Neruda sang to heros’ Stalingrad
Nor failed his trust, and neither will I falter The poetry of love remains on hold,
To celebrate rich Nature there’s no time
Gazing within Man’s soul will have to wait
Till you’re made whole of this bombastic crime
Baghdad, raped Baghdad, accept my rage, 
Agony of soul that fills each stave
Spittle of contempt on jackal leaders,
Unworthy spawn of those who freed the slave I may not write again but if I do
The purpose served will be to praise your name;
City of victims, land of heroes, Truth
Will hymn your triumph, while we sink in shame.

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