The Wake

A. General Gonzales: The fact that the Constitution—
again, there’s no express grant of Habeas
in the Constitution—
there’s a prohibition against taking it away.
But um, there’s—
it’s never been the case.
I’m not aware of a Supreme—

The Arlen Specter: Now wait a minute, wait a minute.
The Constitution says
you can[no]t take it away
except in the case
of invasion or
rebellion.
Does[no]t that mean
you have the right
of Habeas Corpus?

A. General Gonzales: I meant by that comment that
the Constitution does[no]t say
every individual in the United States
or every citizen is hereby granted
or assured
the right of Habeas—

It does[no]t say that.

It simply says
…

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Students
Trapped
In dormitorial dreamworld
Chanting in pseudo-utopian bliss
Rolling stone mantra
Praying for chains to rot.

Workers
Trapped
In industrial nightmare
Sweating factorial frustration
Alienated confusion
Struggling for chains to break.

People
Trapped
In commoditic consumption
Purchasing profusely
Self-product
Hoping to someday buy chains.

Who: Leslie Adrienne Miller
What: The author discusses ‘The Resurrection Trade.’
When: Wednesday, March 28th, 7 pm.
Where: The Loft Literary Center (1011 Washington Ave S), FREEWho: Anatoly Liberman
What: Time and Language
When: Thursday, March 29th, 4 pm.
Where: Nolte Center Lounge (U of M), FREEWho: Michael Friedman; Anselm Hollo
What: Writers read from recent works.
When: Thursday, March 29th, 7:30 pm.
Where: Rogue Buddha Art Gallery (357 13th Ave NE, Mpls.), FREEWho: Christopher Moore
What: The author discusses ‘You Suck.’
When: Friday, March 30th, 7 pm.
Where: Coffman Bookstore (U of M), FREEWho: Shelia Bland; Pat Samples; Sandy Beach; Danielle Daniel; Heidi Arneson
What: Reading and story telling
When: Friday, March 30th, 7 pm.
Where: Amazon Bookstore (4755 Chicago Ave S, Mpls.), FREEWho: Mentor Reading: Jim Moore
What: The poet reads from recent …

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I have melancholy tropical storms welling inside my liver.
There is a tidal wave of agony about to pour from my kidneys.
There is a blizzard of regret swirling behind my retinas.
There is a tornado of terrible wrecking my esophagus.
There is corrupt acid rain in my muscles.
The threat of loss is sleeting in my spleen.
Poverty precipitates up and down my spine.
There isn’t place enough to put all the pain in the world.
Within each organ we store our own, who is big enough to store it all?

I wish sometimes, just sometimes but still,
that I could erase it all.
Take this scrap piece of paper with
this drawing of a world upon it and crumple it in a ball.
Then start fresh with a new piece of land and a new drawing tool.
Where all our children will be numerous and beautiful,
the faults of the old world never appearing in them.
We will love all of them with all we have
and they will love us and each other.
There won’t be piercing loss
and the threat of loss won’t rear its ugly head.
Deaths will consist of joyous dances with
flowered robes and beautiful smells.
We will not mourn their passing …

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Who: Jazzy Literary Soiree
What: Jazz and readings with authors Sheila O’Connor; Patti Frazee; Maureen Millea Smith; Pamela Carter Joern.
When: Wednesday, March 21st, 7:30 pm.
Where: First Universalist Church (3400 Dupont Ave S, Mpls.), FREEWho: Deborah Keenan
What: Poetry.
When: Thursday, March 22nd, 7:30 pm.
Where: Weisman Art Museum (U of M), FREEWho: Vincent Wyckoff
What: The mailman discusses ‘Beware of the Cat and Other Encounters of a Letter Carrier.’
When: Thursday, March 22nd, 7:30 pm.
Where: Lyndale United Church of Christ (810 W 31st St, Mpls.), FREEWho: Kamau Brathwaite
What: The Carribean poet discusses ‘The Arrivants: A New World Trilogy’
When: Friday, March 23rd, 7 pm
Where: The Loft Literary CenterWho: The Wake
What: Open-myke (yeah, that’s right; take that standard English)
When: Friday, March 23rd, 7 pm.
Where: Starlight café in DinkytownWho: …

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a time and a place
a time and a place
a penny saved
a penny earned
a penny earned
if at first you don’t succeed
try try again
try try again
try try again
mind your p’s and q’s
mind your manners
pleases and thank yous
the early bird
catches the worm
catches the worm
the early bird
you’re never fully dressed
without a smile
a smile
smile
smile
silence is golden
and actions speak louder than words
actions speak louder than words
actions speak louder than words
sincerely yours

The body is not a prison
it is a temple;
not a cage from which the soul escapes,
but a holy place built
for sanctification, redemptionon that Day
bone and ash will rise
from graveyards and cisterns,
swirl upward like smoke
re-creation of fingers, palm, wrist
glowing gloriously in light
toe by toe, a foot, a leg
dancing as they rise
a people resurrectedlips sealed from life’s last kiss
open to holy, holy, holy
for they did not feel
the sting of death.

Shook evenly, the burst of petrolnostrils of children racingeyes on the back of the back of the backof the pick-me-up dirt cloudsone shiver one shoulderI see the grave digging grace of the ambulance chaseOn these wounded hills—spider-likeskeletons mashed together from the buttof rubber heels and dirty pawsof that bobcat wandering.Sing praise to beaten onelimping around the dirtan orgasmic coma shotas machine lies still on backwheels lulling a spinspin, spin.

Engines blaring loudA spectacle of powerWhere are my nachos?

Paws riddle the bark
claws scratch on the back of this leaf
these are not marks meant for you,
tree.
Birds, wings skid along the sky
fly,
cease molting,
longevity.Cat’s eye felt the rush of the tree
its teeth the leaves
its whiskers the wind
bird the fur flushed back again
evergreen screens hide the screamsof the teeth behind the window pane
eyes waiting for the glass to melt.—red feather, or maybe the blues.Cat. Bird. Tree.

The beggar
is starving
but always
clothed.

I sweep the stars, encircling the sky
In trailing fingertips that move the sun
That paper made along with ink and I
While time I slowed to confiscate his run.
Inside this land the winter has prevailed;
My palms press frost into the morning’s rise
And choke the yellow sun until she’s paled,
Dressing the riverbanks in crimson guise.
But still the graying beard of time can tell
That all the painted pages I have made
Are bound and bonded purely to the well
Of ink in your eyes and the love you’ve laid.
So know that summer’s bliss lies in your smile;
To change this world, just stay with me awhile.

Chasing sun on water we glide
on husks of metal across
earth or sky not knowing
which end is up. Wind slides between shirt
and skin causing
bodies to search for heat,
thigh against thigh.His profile cuts
horizon, searching
infinite blue asI watch ripples recede from oar,
wooden, smooth, and slender.I grab his hand as we slip
through water like glass

I saw the tree and it was knotted and twisted
Its face was hidden from me.
It was twisted,
her body was twisted.
Right around the middle she was twisted.
And she was there.
Rooted and hunched and twisted.
She was rooted and hunched and twisted.
She was winding in her waiting,
growing more twisted,
waiting and growing,
twisted and waiting to release, to let go, to unwind those knots,
to spring to open to fling her hair,
shriveling contortions of brown and green …

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