Ekphrasis: Portrait: Mary Harju/Adam Fieled



Dear M, I know many yeses.
Yes, I’ve had pants-ants, I’ve

sewed my oats, not Quaker,
but remember: oats are small.

Yes, I wrote our happenings,
made them public. OK, you

can say I suck. Sucking hasn’t
made me sour, however. I’m

as sweet as a Gobstopper. I’m
colorful, too. You should suck

me again sometime. Love, A. 


c. Mary Harju/Adam Fieled 2006

Ekphrasis: The Fall: Mary Harju/Adam Fieled




I look at a bridge through the window.
I am standing, naked, while you paint.

I feel that every moment is new, nude.
I am in my body as it actually is, I am

in time as it moves forward, from in
side my body, responsive to drafts

coming through the window, mirrors
that show me what I know too well

to know, what I have lived through
and with, what I have seen but not

been Other to. Sunlight glistens—
we fall upwards, without question.


c. Mary Harju/Adam Fieled 2008



Diana Magallon: te_a_tro


Diana Magallon's site te_a_tro in the mid-Aughts employed my instrumental El Goodo, from the Ardent album, as its theme song.

hutt 2.2: Song for Genevieve (Walsh)


Philly Free School: Live Play by Play: 2005


These salvaged pages document Philly Free School happenings as they progressed through the blistering inferno which was 2005: PFS at Molly's Books in South Philadelphia; PFS at the Highwire Gallery; PFS planning Poetry Incarnation '05 and Bowery Poetry Club shows in New York; Poetry Incarnation '05 playback; and BPC playback as well, as well as the BPC calendar with us on it (8/13). Cheers!

hutt: Song for Genevieve



A salvaged page from the mid-Aughts: Song for Genevieve in Australia's hutt. And in Starfish

From Me-Tronome: December 17, 2007


Chris Goodrich: from Ocho #11

Upon Hearing that She and the Man with whom She Cheated are getting Married


Somewhere behind me
the staccato of young men,
their laughter, a fitting truth,
something I wish I had
moments ago when the news
covered my body like sudden
rain.. Beside me, an umbrella
I’ve carried since morning.
I hope to God I don’t forget it
when it’s time again to leave.
I’ve ruined more evenings that way,
my shoes soaked, my body shaking.
I don’t know what kind of animal
love is. I do know how to pray
on bent knees for someone
else’s failure. From the ledge
of a lonely and startled dream,
I put my hands together and begin
the way anyone would: Dear God


In my dreams I play flower girl
at your wedding. A meticulous
and rehearsed walk down
the lantern-lit aisle, a white wicker
basket anchoring my enthusiasm,
releasing the pink petals carelessly
into the wind. Pink being, in my mind,
the color of grace, the basket a symbol of sanity,
my dress, black as a bitch slap, the only sign
that something is terribly wrong.

That and the fact that I kidnapped,
in the name of forgiveness, the real flower girl,
tied her to the back seat of my car
(I’ve cracked the windows). She’ll return
home after the reception, unharmed,
I promise, after we have danced and danced,
and after, god willing, I lift a glass to you Jennifer,
to you Chris, that you both may see how much I have grown.

Drinking Together, Li Po and I admire
Wang’s Garden


We go back and forth like this:
raising our gin soaked chins
to a translucent daytime moon,
toasting the indecent goldenrod,
the sweet sting of morning,
then, falling deep into an unbelievable 10am,
memorizing the hibiscus.

Last night, a dozen friends joked
as you stripped clean and rode the rope
swing into the river. Afterwards, the wine wet,
the grass low and dying, we vowed to cherish
the balding crocus in sickness and health.

This morning we watch the birds
return one by one to Wang’s roof,
our backs against the same oak,
our tumblers now empty.
I am drifting in and out of consciousness
but you are still awake, writing something down,
transfixed by willow-blossom, the call of the moon,

Yudu love the summer...

Kendall Jenner: Mortified