Eleven “poets who were not afraid to let a little weirdness into their work, a little bit of the imagination”, as guest editor Paul Nelson puts it. Plus readings and interviews in audio. When I was asked by Rattapallax editor Flavia Rocha to curate a selection of West Coast poets, there were several facets of this project that I considered a given. First, I wanted to limit the poets to the Northwest,... 

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by C. E. Putnam The difference: Day-Suffering by Night being preferable to Night-Suffering by Day. Since after I began with Spooky her techniques of paralysis improved to the point where I couldn’t feel her cage playing go-go glowspots and feathers so that I might enjoy myself. Very long sex fluids (ninety x 1000) faults & on the news: The Bunny Motor wanting to rip something to look forward... 

by Paul Nelson 7.18.01 – “No time for THAT” she says releasing semi-erect morning penis. 4.20.02 – Behind END ISRAEL OCCUPATION rally, kosher hot dog stand. 4.09.03 – Maintenance man leaves a note says, can’t fix your faucet its threads are striped. 3.12.04 – After the terror bombings cel phones ring next to corpses in Madrid. 5.13.05 – Late night sangrias/enchiladas – morning... 

Carletta Carrington Wilson’s poems have been published in The Seattle Review, Obsidian III, The Cimarron Review, Pilgrimage, Raven Chronicles, Beyond the Frontier: African American Poetry for the 21st Century, Uncommon Waters: Women Write About Fishing and Seattle Poets and Photographers: A Millennium Reflection, among others. She is currently completing her first poetry manuscript. Carletta... 

by Paul Nelson Here’s the crusher. There would be a time when old Comiskey no longer a place where he helped vendors and got in for free, now w/ a kid who wanted to be a shortstop but afraid of a liner in the eye and there he goes with his un official hobby (Steve says) public embarrassment. But it’s a Red Sox golfing outfielder named Hawk Harrelson and Pop had a scream or two for him as I ordered... 

by Paul Nelson It was a Wednesday, four destinations. Nilda would feed us ropa vieja: better than Miami. Raphael puts on his helmet or cashes in his chits for a Lada for a day, we would drive to Cemetario Colón. How a Cuban does this. Here is a stranger, but familia también on to the city of dead, having workshopped en Miramar ... 

by Paul Nelson We would fly right out of Shakespeare’s pages & find a bath in which to go into a trance, maybe ant ourselves w/ a caught ant or splash of vodka, vinegar speaking the name Mortimer, metallic are we tearing about the sky above the city that feeds us, splitting in two connecting by a field, or a membrane, or a star force, vulgar ... 

by John Olson One winter morning I was sitting in the car waiting for the heater to melt the frost from the windows. It was bitter cold. I turned on the radio. Out came “A Day In The Life,” a song from the Beatle’s Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. A light went on in my head. It’s been 43 years, but I never tire of that song. Angst mixed with awe and amazement. A man’s mind...