Ian Copestick

                       Heroin History

I was flicking through a book,
Earlier today, on the social history of  Britain in the 20th Century  and I have to say that
I was absolutely blown away
To see that Heroin was only
Made illegal in 1956.
Nineteen Fifty fucking Six !
Can you believe it ?
At the time, according to
Government records, there was
47.5 heroin addicts in the
Whole British Isles. Before you
Even begin to think of what
Makes up 0.5 of a heroin
Addict, 47.5, in the whole
Fucking country !
Prohibition worked really well
There, didn’t it ?
The only winners that I can see
In the whole, sorry scenario
Are drug dealers and criminals.
How to make 47 turn into
Hundreds of thousands.
Call me sceptical, or cynical, but something doesn’t quite add up here, for me.
You might possibly think that in the ’50’s with the birth of the
Teenager, and suddenly large numbers of working class
Youngsters going to University
And getting educated. That
Those in power would like to See a lot of working class
Youngsters opiated and numb
As I said, I’m cynical, and a bit
Of a conspiracy theorist, but
It’s just a thought

Lou Faber



“Another,” he said,

his knees pressing

against the mahogany panels

of the old bar,

“and keep them coming

until I can take no more.

There won’t be

a last call tonight.”

The clatter of caroming

billiard balls cut

through the cigarette smoke

that curled against

the etched, streaked mirror,

over the din of karaoke.

As the bartender rinsed

and wiped the glasses

with a beigy cotton towel

and walked to the storeroom

he lifted the shot glass.

“This one’s for you Ginsberg,”

as he had earlier for Lowell,

Reznikoff, the others.

Much later as the sun

rose slowly, as his head

rested in his left hand,

he struggled to grab the small glass,

lifted it painfully

from the ash littered bar top

and in a sodden, slurred voice

whispered, head falling

against the wood, “and this

is for you Corso.”


Troy R. McGee, Jr.

To Ex-Girlfriends


stomping, glorious shapely gears, dangerous curves

turn on your large hips and walk away,

mumbling “fuck you” fumbling ample breasts

back into the bodice because I bounced in erect

with no bullshit and wouldn’t say I love you

you can’t reverse gears now you’ve

swallowed me you hate me why you hang

around me I could make nice or we could

watch fireworks later, settle into why I’m not

how you are how many times you lie on me

angry you tell me you faked, tell your friends

“I never fucked him” meanwhile I meditate,

meshed, mashed mouths into you

I never lie, never sleep without you, not

asleep, in love with someone else

unable to matter to you, to be your friend

and lover, you think love and law guilt

and sin and blame coven and covenant

I think like a man, a monkey merely

filthy and “pussy” scared you know

you let me in I tell myself you would

do it again I awake a world away a married

man 12 steps from poetry to slavery

love and sex and pure knavery and not




Curriculum Vitae


It is important to practice your craft. Try to hone your poems down to concise and finely tuned statements about the true beauty in the world. Send these pithy ruminations to magazines and publishers who seem to share your view of the arts or to those whom you admire. Be persistent. No one likes a quitter or those who are easily discouraged. Try to get a foothold in Academic circles. Much success for a poet can be had with those who read and are conversant in the language of books. Maintain an air of humility as you continue to sharpen your skills. Let others make the seminal observations about your writing and your character. Garner awards so soon your newest collection of poems will have some sort of a medallion on it or at least some addendum to your name signifying you are one of the true young lions of the literary world. At some point it may be necessary to formally approach poetry with a book of sonnets or sestinas or historically highly regarded forms. A language phase may be added consisting of words which ring and shine for their own sake. Actually, settle down somewhere back East or in some mystical locale made famous by your own verse. In this time speak of the spirit of the place you inhabit. Even use the term Zeitgeist and see if you can get away with saying Weltanschauung. Become obsessed with the plight of some group and their struggle and devote two or three books to heroic songs of justice in their name. Get a job at a university of your choice because you love to give back to young people. Write your observations on the world to your local paper or even to some lucky periodical of which the editorial staff will be so thrilled to have your input. Become an actual charity or an endowment of some kind so people will see and hear your name when they watch PBS shows and other younger writers can get money and medallions and addendum on their books. Champion a few of them and maybe have some affairs. Get to know some famous people but make sure they see you as aloof or somehow above everything that goes on or inexplicably dark of mood. Become some kind of living national treasure whom someone undoubtedly will say the very advancement of letters could not have been possible without your contribution. Design a building for your foundation. Scratch that. Have a committee design a building for your foundation and hire a famous architect to build it. Probably on the grounds of the university you are now an absolute bulwark of culture within. Make sure the building is expansive and ornate with wings and futuristic furniture and green over there and orange over there. Go out of fashion quietly and without unseemly protest about how you no longer understand the world or young people. Understand that the smell of your books will be slightly musty and reflect your death in the way a poem never could when some literature professor you taught tasks a student with writing a paper about you and your poems which after all is said and done are exactly what always came first.

Daniel de Culla



Bones turn to dust

Sunburnt Woods lonelier

Dogs going back to earth¡


Owl’s head our freedom

Even if it did blow over

To pick up and go.


Ghost Gioia

Is what makes this place



Billowing clothes

As little as possible

Billowing homes¡


Sky and Earth

At the edge of silence

Translucency in it¡

J.J. Campbell

these lonesome nights


sometimes these walls

feel like they are closing

in on me


some might think of

that as a nightmare


i consider it a wish


these lonesome nights



looking at the stars

and wondering which

god did i piss off this



and there goes the one

you love


off to go drink in a bar

with all the men you

know you can’t compete



one of these days you’ll

find the courage to tell

her how you feel


perhaps after that bottle

of gin is empty


perhaps after the

ammunition is



perhaps after she walks

out the door once again

Mark Spitzer

Observation #6265



Have you ever taught

in the same shirt you slept in?


I just did.


Not because I lack respect

for myself


but because I lack it

for my colleagues


too bad for everyone

I liked

wearing a tie.