ISSN 1551-8086
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  November 2005
volume 3 number 4
-table of contents-
  home   (archived)
  contributing poets
  Steve Abee
  Gregory Austin
  Leah Brown
  Peggy Dobreer
  Francisco Dominguez
  Sufi Erter
  Jerry Garcia
  Steve Goldman
  Jeff Green
  Andrew Grossman
  Jerry Hicks
  Roger Humes
  Raud Kennedy
  Gerard Kuc
  Marie Lecrivain
  Laura A. Lionello
  ShahĂ© Mankerian
  Johnny Masuda
  Dave Nordling
  Mani Suri
  Davide Trame
  Tri Tran
  Sharieff Walters
  Christopher Watkins
  Justin Weiler
  mailing list
Steve Abee
November 2005



Madame Aperture

    Steve Abee has published two books: King Planet, a collection of stories and poems, and The Bus: Cosmic Ejaculations of the Daily Mind in Transit, a novel. He also released a CD, titled Jerusalem Donuts, but that was a million years ago. He is currently working on a new novel, titled Johnny Future, and he has a poetry manuscript that is looking for a publisher.
    He is a middle school English teacher, is married, has two daughters, and lives in Los Angeles.



Hail to the Things I Cannot See

Hail to thee oh unseen things. Hail

stellar contraction shaping dust into a sun,

atoms waiting in darkness to begin

their fusion blooming solar fire,

electricity chewing across the wires in the wall,

neuron signal causing the heart to beat,

hormonal impulse causing pubic hair to grow,

synaptic exchange causing the mind to change.

I cannot see any of you, but I know you are there.


Oh ovum tumbling out of the fallopian waiting room,

into the clean blood darkness, alone,

waiting for brother sperm.

Oh seed generated from testicular emptiness,

looting and rioting in the vaginal night,

I salute all you unseen makers.

Oh Heartbeat, accelerated

by smell of a shampoo

that reminds of Jr. High School French kissing,

first touching vagina, exciting stink, who knew

it would smell like that?

Oh Sorrow held in chest cavity

upon the smell of incense

that parents burned to create atmosphere

during their alcoholic stupors, apartments of black-out rage

with Charlie Parkerąs Tunisian horn

blowing holes into the night.

Oh Rain of tenderness falling on face,

brought on by memory of candle-making

with mother on the porch of the apartment,

colored wax dripped into shapes carved in sand,

Hail to all of you, the invisible evokers of time past

and the things that happened and shouldnąt have

and should have, and had to, but what do I know?

Oh Wind keeping seagulls aloft, squawking and hovering

over mine and my daughters' Hot Dogs down at Santa Monica Pier.

Oh Gravity that holds the trees up and my bones together,

web of sun's stellar radiance that wraps this earth,

sphere of mud and bones, in perfect location

for the growing of our brains and other cosmic windows.

Oh Sunlight, tinkerer of soul and mind,

creating my waking and seeing with your clear yellow light,

waking me with your rising, pulling me to sleep when you go,

my body like the oceans in their tides.

I am you, all of me, I believe.

Oh Sorrow, endless holes in the sky and in the heart,

you are there again, purple thing, river-like, deliverer,

brokenly smiling the way to light.

Oh Silence, kindest hush of mind and time,

loving terminus of all, the sky of purest now.

Silence, holding and blooming sounds

of airplanes passing through clouds, 7th graders

whispering in the back row, heart beats

like bubbles coming to the surface of the water,

all rising from silence, all stone and gaseous

vapor and vision laying upon silence.

Love laying upon the silence, sunrise
out of silence.

Oh Hail, Hail

invisible things.

copyright 2005 Steve Abee