Improvijazzation Nation, issue # 33





There have always been “supporters” for this ‘zine, many of them musicians… but the most frequent purchasers have been those who write and submit (sometimes tomes of) material for publication. I’ve thought (for quite some time, actually) about running an issue that provides more focus on this valuable area. Some musicians express the opinion that poetry isn’t a part of their “scheme” of things. How difficult I find THAT TO HANDLE!

Spoken word HAS to have been among the first art-forms existing on this ball of mud. The rhythms that eventually translated into instruments can only be viewed (to this jaded ear, anyway) as EXTENSIONS of the voice. The expression of visual imagery through spoken word is an art unto itself, I believe… how much more wonderful it becomes when it’s COMBINED with a chorus of instrumental voices!

That’s why you’ll find the highlight of this issue being (many of) the poets who have faithfully sent things our way for consideration over the last 10 years… “gourd, ‘as it BEEN that long?”, sez’ da’ Zzaj. I won’t try and “explain” the intricacies of each piece, but contact addresses (many of which are still good) are listed for each person published… get in TOUCH with them!




Rotcod Zzaj











The season is half over

it covers the cats with sun

a quirk of imagination escapes covertly

fingering keys for admission

as the clock starts Mingus makes his move

too many years of submission

fingering for something versatile

the conglomeration of mixed animal sounds

or fireworks viewed six flights-up

punched into a trap you refuse to leave

only relief is on the maps of squealing

instruments like suffocated

sounds from gloved lips.



Joan Payne Kincaid

132 Dubois Avenue

Sea Cliff, NY 11579



The deal

You can tell the habits of men who never listen

They close all the doors in the faces

Of what you might have had to say

This is no exaggeration

They smell of silence

And neglect

Habits hermit shell them

Eggs globe hard boiled

Between thumb and pointer

Eggs globe what will

Never crack out from within

To out hibernate those habits

We formless form no exalted exit

For no exalted exile

Here for the duration

We work with what we have

Tools traded for instruments

Guitars for songs


Jonathan Levant

24 Gunckel Ave

Dayton, OH 45410







Light loosened across the lake

traps the eye.

The water wrinkles in the wind

fluffs along the edges

and taps the air like a hidden drum.

Trees nest their leaves above the shore.

The stars, resting in a somber bed

attend the moon

which somewhere distant, like a clock

hangs quietly.

In the cylinder precinct of the lake

the walls of trees

dark rises up to meet the sky

where it evanesces

into the gleam and glint of space.

There it dwells in awesome quiet

A lovely cover for our walk together.


David Napolin

125 Colonial Avenue

Williston Park, NY 11596

Mulberries and Milkweed

The taste of sweet wine

Lingers in my mouth,

lingers like the taste

of you. You are mulberries

and milkweed, rolling like

thunder beneath my soft eiderdown.

We met on the street

that day you wore a green

carnation behind your ear.

I wanted to sniff it.

I have secrets and secret places.

I open myself like a perfectly

Symmetrical clam shell and

allow you in.


Barbara Cooper

POB 185

Auburn, MI 48611














trashcan mailbomb Alabama Churches


miltibombers more subtlesubversive

with ultimate destruction.

Bombardiers, they are-

Bomblasting with news that is definitionally

Important, but idealistically worthless.

Bombardiers, they are-

Their fragmentary device is the maimed claim

That de-fusion of the nuclear family

Will destroy society. Justlook at Japan.

Elder-respect and geisha girl

Equals high-productivity.

Bomardiers, they are-

Laying waste with the American Church


Jan Bryan

30 N. Brainard

Napierville, IL 60566





Hovering Like Stars



His fingers

trace worlds across my back

in the oldest half-light

of an autumn dawn.

Burning like heat

safely contained in glass.

A gift

From my private saint.

To lock me inside

a smile

that will never be lost.

On his lips.


Amy Jo Huffman

2507 Mercer West-Middlesex Rd

West Middlesex, PA 16159











his room a clot

of ice, color-

less as scar

tissue where

something was

cut away. “Do

you know how

much I love

having you in

class?” dissolves

with his grin

at each new color

of Rachel’s lips.

“Ballet isn’t

life.” But when

the government

said no teaching,

he started getting

paler. They took

Medicaid away,

Anyway. “Don’t get

To the next position

Too soon and just

Hang out there,

“he said as he

rushed and

froze to

his last



Lyn Lifshin

2719 Baronhurst Drive

Vienna, Virginia 22181











I painted a picture once

Of ships, nude women and semen.

A very seductive painting.

So I had to paint it blind

because my virgin eyes

couldn’t bear to see the lust

it portrayed.

Even though my imagination told

what there was to see.

Michaelangelo would be ashamed.

So would Raphael,


Oh, and most likely, Leonardo.

Probably because I can’t paint their friendly ideas.


Brad Henz

30 North Brainard

POB 3063

Naperville, Illinois 60566-7063


Weather Emotgion of Spring Equinox


Rain has subsided

Storm clouds suddenly diminish from view

Sun begins to take over

What was once a gloom filled misery of discontent

Now a joyous

celebration of peace throughout the land

nature springs into place according

to plan

sky becomes a deeper shade of blue

flowers bloom

leaves decorate branches once again

in accordance to all of this

my love for her is enhanced

erasing all the depression and anxiety

filling what was once my internal hollowness.


Chris Baum

22674 Hartley Rd.

Alliance, OH 44601

The people and their crazy ways

Look at me in my staid phase.

Hob nob-nobbin’ ‘mong the weirder crew,

Looks me for normalcy in this strange brew.

Straight straights in clean pants,

Wonders me why we choose these ways.

Doing crazy time in stuffed boxes,

Swears me I’m the only one sane.


David Sloves

1528 Haight St

San Francisco, CA 94117




Esculent Soul


Somewhere – above my being –

celestial maggots dine on hope and milk the stars for gold

Violent pauses in existence

feed hungryworms – feed empty minds

A death more painful – meaningful –

than the visit we call our life –

Slowly being chewed away by

eager teeth – by eager lies – crunching bones as they go

In the above, far atop this untruth,

sleeps a meaning far deeper than insect-eaten deceit –

Constantly draining the riches

from one last light – and pushing the chair from the table.


Shane Birdsill

POB 134

Bozeman, MT 59771-0134



A Pessimist’s Logic


The man who once grew roses

now raises thorns instead

Those remain forever,

Whereas the flowers will soon be dead.


Shane Birdsill

POB 134

Bozeman, MT 59771-0134




My life



No words

just pages

alone to be read

no explanations needed

no excuses said

Just a book never opened

nor heard of but read

“I could’ve, I should’ve

but didn’t is all

it says


Mike J. Svec

1123 Caroline

Port Angeles, WA 98362



White is the color of death.

Grinning skulls, bleached bones,

even weathered tombstones

shimmer with a pale Goblin-light glitter

of white.

It has been said that fear will give you

an ashen face and snow-white hair.

Meanwhile, Death just grins in the pale shadows,

wrapping himself in the faded cobwebs

until he is completely enshrouded

in white…


D.L. Harris

Rt 4, Box 70-B

Marion, VA 24354

In Memory Of

The sound of dancing fingers

upon strings, silver and gold

only echo empty chambers

with the ghosts of yesterday.

Left with only memories

We will cling to the façade

Of the smiling magic man,

The mortal magic man.

Stephen R. Reed

58 Mapleton St

Brighton, MA 02135




some will strongly dispute this

one good Chet Baker session

is worth more

than the whole tired beat scene


John Levin

331A Harvard St #6

Cambridge, MA 02139


Unit Without















Valory Banister

POB 1591

Upland, CA 91785








Valory Banister

POB 1591

Upland, CA 91785







Too much



a T.V. set

turned on

in the winter.


Joseph Susick

7012 Springhouse Lane

Columbus, OH 43229


Flatware Fandango


Forks and spoons


in the soapy cycle,


it’s no wonder why



when the dry




Stephen Kopel

187 Beaver

San Francisco, CA 94114




In wake of blizzard a feeling of being

raked in drifts snow blind

snow ball

snow geese

like leaves

singing sentimental parades

paradoxical paradigm

the old puffy-fluff-feel

evolves its blitzkrieg.

teats of shadow like velvet leaves

lie in light that wants to seem perfect.

parturition ovulates blades

nibble love in violent crystals

trapped under harbor ice

last weak aura of meal rapport

of rope rappel

souza or something pomp in summer’s

neurotic rudely zipping-up

sunrise slashes pale violet

thigh-sinking sigh azure foreplay

lashed to sleds of hazzard

hard rudder’s pale feel.


Joan Payne Kincaid

132 Dubois Avenue

Sea Cliff, NY 11579






the aura of lyrical Laura lingers

queening up the otherwise-doldrumed day

I say feel it, climb it to the attic

of your inner space

like a muscled full-merryground moon

winking spray off midnight waterfalls

heavy she’s got off her vocal rainbow

all funkrock rivulets publicity suspended

“full to bursting I am too

how about you?”

feel supreme to the opening riptheme

basic peppering bass

beatnotes and cruising professional hop

telepathy’s readouts, up the wild eyes

of the masses, living it high

way into the 40-top crest

of my head far like




Jim Dewitt

2526 Chatham Woods

Grand Rapids, MI 49546














Vitale-less, not Vitalis.

Imagine a world

where Diaper Dandies grow up to be men.

Where players, not coaches,

Get camera-time kudos.

Where Robert Montgomery Knight

is exposed as a brute and a bully.

Where Dipsy-doo Dunkeroos are simple

slam-jam, thank-you-ma’ams.

Where self-promo shrills are deep-sixed

for simple three-pointers.

Where PTPers are confused

with the PCPers of the drug culture.

Your shtick, Dick, grates on my nerves—

and my ears.

Remember, despite your hairless hysterics,

And motor-mouthed mayhem,

Basketball is just a game.

That’s awsome, baby! Awesome.


Mike Catalano

2026 Mt Meigs Rd #2

Montgomery, AL 36107



light leaving grandfatherly


looks downward

casting glances


awaiting bus

at 3rd & vermont

hat pulled low over

whisping white hair

shredded by stale breeze


earth’s crust

walks forward

toward trashed out deli

old man

father time winning race

bearing withered sign

crying out

“please don’t shoot me”

Scott C. Holstad,

POB 17657

Beverly Hills, CA 90209-3657





the aging lady painter

the saggy skin of her neck

had deeply drawin in lines

like a necklace had been tatooed in

or was it a noose

strangling her slowly but persistently

through the course of time

her nose was dripping into her mouth

she never had it hacked off

to prove that she was demure

with a little model/baby-pig

like snout the kind that smells

the rich distinguished men

with money out

no she was something real

really unique

not pretty at all

pretty ugly to me

still her gray hairs were like tinsel

sparkling brightly in the sun

leaping out from her black

licorice braids


Laurie Calhoun

470 Third St South, #609

St Petersburg, FL 33701







at Hindemith’s centennial

I recall the Times film critic

who sent me to the Mann’s Chinese

to see Mel Gibson sucking yogurt


C. Mulrooney

150 N. Catalina St. #2

Los Angeles, CA 90004













falls in the body.

Truth dows not pull

so many muscles.

Don’t fear,

moments quickly sunk


Her criticism left eyelashes

hard and unstable.

The body’s spirals

unwrinkle in a closet.

I want a dance

where loneliness vanishes

and hope falls

where distinction


Nathan Whiting

POB 150649

Brooklyn, NY 11215-0649


I Dreamed

they tossed

my ass

out of Arby’s

just for sitting

there eating

a ham sub

(“hold the mayo

or whatever

else you like”)

I’d bought next

door at the up-

scale deli

you work at


due to any

store policy

but because

they were all


that you’d made



Pete Lee

721 S. Allen

Ridgecrest, CA 93555


These pleasures now seem trivial

I speak of salty days

of boys and girls walking away

from The Merry Widow Waltz

and into the starlight.

We shared our goldfish

and strawberies in the yard

and our little idiosyncrasies

now only a memory.

We meet again Vanessa

in the revelation of spring

and you know my secret ways

the ways of the panther

and of the shadow that seeks the dawn.

These pleasures are not dead

though we have died a thousand times

together and alone

in the cold morning mist

when all the angels tread about us

in an ineptitude.


George Gott

504 N. 19th St

Superior, WI 54880






across the way

a woman’s

maniacal laugh


I’m injured


but here’s

what a good sport

I can be


Walt Phillips

4291 Monroe #117

Riverside, CA 92504








Clouds press down

On the lips’reed

in rows of too many drivers

trying not to remember last night

a wet drunk and a dry

slide next to me

empty rising view

Chinese scroll unroll hills

mist, small villages

dreadfully dressed in boredom

and absolutely no where.

They line up harmonies in

the grass parks where they press

complacency and repeat signs

near the beginning or the end

a shrew shreiks “Stop talking!”

Too many musicians

too many mouths to satisfy.


Joan Payne Kincaid

132 Dubois Ave

Sea Cliff, NY 11579





Janet Leigh


her of the astrodynamic breasts

and the seething wit


ivory poaching


twice I’ve told your head today

it’s my game now we’ve come to play




C. Mulrooney

150 N. Catalina St

Los Angeles, CA 90004





Traces of Collective Guilt

There is blood in every window

And a rope around her neck.

Still the desire

to dance

in oiled black

burns her skin.

Until her eyes melt


And split the shackles

dripping from her wrists.


Amy Jo Huffman

2507 Mercer-West Middlesex Road

West Middlesex, PA 16159





Delicious Feast


We’ll cuddle. We’ll curl like two spoons.

Maybe we’ll talk about food – you’ll whisper

in my ear “lobster thermidor, chicken cordon

bleu, baked alaska.”You’ll whisper “chocolate

covered cherries,”and I’ll giggle deliciously

and wrap my legs around you. I’ll curl the hair

on your back with my little finger, and say

“crab legs with drawn butter, moussaka,

stuffed grape leaves.” You’ll shudder

with pleasure and massage my back, telling me

of trout almondine and escargot.

Finally, you’ll say to me “my little cocktail

onion, my pimento,”and we’ll roll under the

eiderdown all night, feasting at the delicious

meals of ourselves until fully satisfied.


Barbara Cooper

POB 185

Auburn, MI 48611












trashcan mailbomb Alabama Churches


multibombers more subtlesubservsive

with ultimate destruction

bombardiers, they are –

bomblasting with news that is definitionally

important, but idealistically worthless.

bombardiers, they are –

their fragmentary device is the maimed claim

that de-fusion of the nuclear family

will destroy society. justlook at Japan.

elder-respect and geisha girl

equals high-productivity.

bomardiers, they are –

laying waste with the American church


Jan Bryan

30 N. Brainard

Napierville, IL 60566






On the bay’s edge the lamps are a long necklace

Stars are burning above

and in one hurled range

splash the sky like magnesium.

Inland from the coast the tracks swing.

Always with the gallop of wheels

and the slow repetition of hours

thought, like wind, flows with memories.

When lights dangle on the water’s edge

and the sky is a gigantic jewel

and the shore is plunged in the train’s yellow,

why, insistent stars, mus you bring her back.


David Napolin

125 Colonial Ave

Williston Pk, NY 11596-1528










three titles: ohio in the morning

the ghost of jocasta art colonus

the last of the last



I have learned silence from these pages

like puff the magic adder

venom is mixed with vision & voice

ambition so blithe and brutal

I have shut up for decades

judged unworthy so often by so many

just trespassing through

across your excruciatingly exclusive treasure

the sea is already two thirds witch’s blood

greed is the great intrinsic satisfaction

as gore to the hilt // skin to the blade

the dangerous idiot’s infection

first you risk your mask

then you risk your face

6 million Europeans

murder 6 million jews

other slaughters have other sites



Jonathan levant

24 Gunckel Ave

Dayton, OH 45410




only when they’re not working

are they worth a damn at all

they’re either cops putting up a front

or else they’re crooks like ditto



C. Mulrooney

150 N. Catalina St., # 2

Los Angeles, CA 90004











Remnant” The “Mump Cage”

The worst thing

Mom swore she would not

it happened

a little sister (I fight

“Rid myself a cage

A mump is an imp a DISEASE

fight back) an ugly


the size of a two-year-old:

Why not?

like a germ the worst

I lead her alone:

the garage.

sit her

on the floor


like a stockade

kindling; like a stockade

break out anytime

a game:

sitting inside

Virginia fatwood it’s called

which goes up in a



Mary Winters

434 East 52nd St # 4E

New York, NY 10022




Walt, I’ve done with lying

it’s you and me America

and the fencepost from now on



C. Mulrooney

150 N. Catalina St. #2

Los Angeles, CA 90004














Standing here in front, eyes

seemingly staring, stripping

all sense of ego and destroying

the dwindling fabrics

of my once delicate comfort zone.

Speech speeding,

improper pronunciation

muttered words stutter

while sweat strands

stroll briskly down my forehead.

60 degrees becomes 115,

perspiration becomes saturation,

Air pipe tightening,

knees clacking

like the engine of my 74 Monza.

Note card number 2…

skipping to 6 out of 7,

shuffling eyes of uninterest

wander off to the side,

staring eyes of those entwined

hypnotize my make shift mind

smiles of interest…

or discontent.

If such thing as Speech Speed Police

I’d be in prison.

A five minute speech in two

Finally done.

Sitting down with cards fluttering

in my rapidly shaking hand


My audience pantingly looks on in discontent

barking as if to say, “is that all”

I get a bag of puppy chow and

satisfy my crowd, while thinking

of tomorrow’s speech…

“If I bring cookies to class, maybe they too

will be satisfied”.


Mike Svec

1123 Caroline

Port Angeles, WA 98362














under withering desert


great white god

rules once more


honor black brother

they have

equal status

what more do

they want why

don’t they just

fucking go back

to Afrika maan

it smells in here

when de sun

go down

de shit come



I am o


that they even

call him a



know tennessee

no compare to

this shit

old rich white folk

an poor desert scum

running around with


goin POP POP

let’s go

vermin hunting.


Scott C. Holstad

POB 17657

Beverly Hills, CA 90208-3657















across the years

and miles

I hear an old blues preacher


devil’s got

90,000 women

sun’s almost down

got to go to bed in

the alley

I hear the old blues preacher

through the crackles

of time and

nothing ever




Walt Phillips

4291 Monroe #117

Riverside, CA 92504





















Measured steps wept silently

Feet fell, like sorrow’s tears,

So still you heard the whispers

As abandoned consciousness

Swept through the dead of night

In borrowed phantom slippers…

Through corridors illumined

With flashing moonlit thought,

Where so brightly, you could see

Your window frame of mind

Showing you the sadness

In the art of memory…

Masterpieces, in those halls

Recalled your yesterdays,

As sculptures carved by lonely times

Stood in brazen attitudes

Waiting for the reaper

To come and claim his prize…

You soon returned, awakened

Cast off the haunted cloak,

As you exposed your feeling

Fell into your lover’s arms,

And shared the sustenance

That’s kept the joy in being

Rotcod Zzaj

5308 65th Ave SE

Lacey, WA 98513


The Cave

Picutre a cave

Musty, cold and dark

As night

The hermit’s retreat;

Now look at the man

Who sits there within,

See fear in his heart

Dry him up, like a bone

Or an old witches teat…

The one who sits there

Has never come out,

No resemblance to man

Til you look at his eyes,

Seeing myriad dreams

In his horrible stare;

And know in your mind

What you feel in your soul,

No matter how dull

This hulk may appear,

The stature he shows

Is not his true size…

You ask him a question

His lips form replies,

Rapid streams

Of pollution,

Come out all at once,

His secrets have worth

And you feel you MUST know,

Who he is, where he’s been

You must see his dream,

So look back to his eyes…

Your gaze falls on pupils

So deep, chilling black,

As eyes, universal

Holde yours in a trance,

Make your will

Come off track;

As this small

Dingy ;hermit,

Pulls you into himself

And tales, grim and fearful,

Pierce your soul

Like a lance…

The pain that you see

And anger you feel,

Making you wonder

If he is someone,

You’ve known, who is real;

As fear that comes from him

Takes a hold on your mind,

You sit in his place

Your heart torn asunder,

’cause you see that the hermit

Wears YOUR lonely face…

Brave warrior, undaunted

You stand strong and firm,

Tear yourself from his eyes

With tears falling free,

Take a rest on life’s berm;

Now turn rather quickly

Sort of proud,

Look out at the sunlight

Sally forth with the news,

And no longer feel

Alone, or unwanted!

Rotcod Zzaj

5308 65th Ave SE

Lacey, WA 98513


A Bunch of the married

women in the office

have a bet going

among them as to

who can set ue up

with a future

wife by Easter.

One at a time,

they stop by my

cubicle & grill me

regarding my likes

& dislikes.

I can’t tell ém

I’m happy alone.

What married woman

wants to hear that

from a man?

So I’ve got my

little routine

down. “I won’t tell you

I don’t like Asians,

but my first wife

was Chinese.

“& it wouldn’t be

fair to say I can’t

stand Latin women,

but my second wife

was Cuban.

“But my real love,

the one I lived with

between marriages,

ah, now she was

Jewish. Yeah,

“bring me a Jew

for Easter.”


Pete Lee

721 S. Allen

Ridgecrest, CA 93555












So many years the crickets sing

the trees renew and grass reroots.

So many years the body sleeps and the body rises.

So many times passion turns and sadness delves

and always we stirve to leave our microcosm

to partake of tree or cloud

to surrender to a loved one.





Down cascades our moments fall

and bury themselves in pools of the past –

a soundless fling

that sinks without foam or mist,

but in the steadfast drop

strains to fly

like white water that lifts to spray.




Strings wing me darkly

through lake’s morning haze

over the water’s sheen

into the captured light of the lake’s depth.

I am sunk in the wavering green

rocked in stillness and light

entombed, swaying before mysterious motion.


David Napolin

125 Colonial Ave

Williston Pk, NY 11596



















Is earth cared for?

Is air protected?

A rake circles, circles ribs.

Near moss muscles

hands close, now.

The high skull

is rarely visited.

Birds race and retreat.

Insects flutter down

roads of nerve.

Flute sounds roll through

bone centers.

Birds swarm, search

the city earth cares for,

air protects.


Nathan Whiting

POB 150649

Brooklyn, NY 11215-0649


The Robins


The robins nest each year in the fir trees

next to the house. They simply lay their

precious nest on a loose tree limb; they

don’t bother to weave it into the needles

to secure it, and each year a strong wind blows

down the nest. You find it on the ground with

one or two perfect blue eggs not smashed. The futility

makes your heart sick. You wonder at their useless

effort; each year fills you with more despair. You

end up cursing the pretty songbird who can’t do

any better with her life than you can with yours’.



Barbara Cooper

POB 185

Auburn, MI 48611












Twisted in White


She was wrapped in silver

Hundreds of links and braids

dripping from her waist.

And five perfect nails

polished to the point

and hovering over her breast.

A final barrier.


for his lips

to break her vow.


Amy Jo Huffman

2507 Mercer-West Middlesex Ave SE

West Middlesex, PA 16159




rubber doorstop

class 3 slope

for skateboarding



beside 18 wheeler tire blocks


in Egyptian cotton


for formal morning inspections

at state line



gasteropodous mollusks

in their tracks


Stephen Kopel

187 Beaver St.

San Francisco, CA 94114















7 years old

brothers speaking foreign tongue

oe-jay is etting-ga an ike-bay

or-fay istmas-chray

10 years old

still desiring a willed interpreter

eeet-may e-may at


12 years old

and in glorious revelation

of discover

I finally understand…

ontday ell-tay im-hay ut-bay the octor-day

aid-say ee-hay is oing-gay o-tay ie-day

…why some things are left unsaid.


Joseph Susick

7012 Springhouse Lane

Columbus, OH 43229


Marrowfat Pea








my fountain dries

at midnight

stiff hoses

douse a


ferris wheel

and I conceal

a rounceval

inside a metal nut


Stephen Kopel

187 Beaver St

San Francisco, CA 94114









The “Claus” is not in claws.

The sink is knot in sync.

The nose’snot in knows.

The weight is naught in wait.

The bell is not Inn, belle.

The Lear hiss not in leer.

The mousse is gnawt in moose.

The medal is not tin (meddle.)

The end is.


Mike Catalano

2026 Mt. Meigs Rd. #2

Montgomery, AL 36107





Deliriousing Soon 486


father printer

would be your

moist prison government

remember our


believed wastless?

sure you do,

like the conspiracy

from beyond

and ice broken up

without body



Valory Banister

POB 1591

Upland, CA 91785
















Yes Domingo, I accept

your remarkable invitation,

I will spend two weeks with you

on the River Salado.

Y buscaremos perdices.

Where can we find the jilguero:

Will it be in the forest

near your goyhood home

or somewhere in the wilderness

beyond our recognition.

Y Domingo

no hay placer

como el que buscamos.

Earth has sometimes its madness,

earth has sometimes its gloom,

and the shadows will quarrel

now and then with the shadows,

but two weeks Domingo,

two weeks to embrace

the earth and the trembling sky.

In the morning shall we wake

to the sunrise,

in the evening shall we sit

by the fireside,

and the long dark nights Domingo:

Y el cuerpo no mas que el alma

despertando con la luz.


George Gott

804 N. 19th St

Superior, WI 54880




heart of net

sure control

beauties symphonize

with silicon color

current grey

for contact froze


Valory Banister

POB 1591

Upland, CA 91785




If February3, 1998

had been three centuries earlier

they would have burned you at the stake

but these are modern times;

we could sing hymns or spirituals

make up a rapid rap

to reveal your sad saga

in the security of prison

political men in charge..

of life and the ending of it

and all the others on death row

we could sing to you of love

while you are treated like a toy

that could be tossed;

tubes in both arms you gently lay

strapped on death-room gurney

arms waving visions of Jesus in your mind

grown innocent as a child..

gesture a spiritual cue maybe a Cecil B. Demille

swelling orchestra and voices imitating an angel choir

soft-spoken soft woman with accepting eye

they would never let you stay.

but we could write a folk song about you.


Joan Payne Kincaid

132 DuBois Ave

Sea Cliff, NY 11579







occupational hazard

metallic appetite

larynx loosener


deep throat


pit nic




Mike Catalano

2026 Mt. Meigs Rd. #2

Montgomery, AL 36107





for the first time in eighteen months

he spoke to me as though we inhabit

the same planet but not in the relation

of man to roach he spoke as though

we could understand one another

but then we could have eighteen months ago

now this: what was it? a form of

temporizing through yet another what

is this hiatus? or was it just a joke?

or maybe it’s not but it really took

eighteen months to come to believe

what is impossible to believe

looked at in this way eighteen months

seems short indeed

a tiny mark on the time line

which stretches both ways and never stops

or chases itself like a mobius solenoid

or never stops because it never starts

eighteen months: not even real

just another fact in our private dream


Laurie Calhoun

470 Third St. S. # 609

St. Petersburg, FL 33701


Above The Word Valley


a poltergeist’s daughter

modeled of sun

seanced blind shadows

liquid with wonderlust


the fog channeled fast

creating a sad hand

to power a miss star


Valory Banister

POB 1591

Upland, CA 91785








Wolf Man


I will leave the door unlocked, the lights off,

the window open. You will come to me on a mid-

summer’s night, my wolf man, my animal lover.

The pads of your feet will soften the noise of your tread,

but I will still hear your nails on the kitchen floor

as you approach my bedroom. I will be waiting

for you, my heart in my throat, waiting for the sudden

leap on my bed. Your sweet, sweet violence against

my body will delight me all night. I’ll cling

to you at dawn, and try to make you stay but you

will go back to your lair, satisfied and selfish.


Barbara Cooper

POB 185

Auburn, MI 48611

In Memory Of


The sound of dancing fingers

upon strings, silver and gold

only echo empty chambers

with the ghosts of yesterday.

Left with only memories

we will cling to the façade

of the smiling magic man,

the mortal magic man.


Stephen R. Reed

58 Mapleton St.

Brighton, MA 02135




Too much



a T.V. set

turned on

in the winter


Joseph Susick

7012 Springhouse Lane

Columbus, OH 43229







There’s only one bit of news that’s really IMPORTANT this month! Th’ 1998 OLYMPIA EXPERIMENTAL MUSIC FESTIVAL! View calendar information, ticket prices & contact info for many of the artists at:


GAJOOB ‘zine is still at the forefront of those who DO somethin’ with their music (& poetry, too). To get more information that will keep you up to date & informed, point your browser to:



Please consider purchasing one of Zzaj Productions’ CD’s… they make really nice gifts that will pleasure th’ earz’ & mindz’ of those with PERCEPTION! Contact me via e-mail at, or via phone to (360)456-1683.



























That’s about it from th’ Zzaj camp for this issue…

as you might imagine, I’m just plain TIRED from

all th’ activity surrounding th’ EXPERIMENTAL

MUSIC FESTIVAL… ergo, issue # 34 could

experience a slight delay! Keep on submitting

all those wonderful musics & spoken word

works to:


Zzaj Productions

5308 65th Avenue SE

Lacey, WA 98513

























Th’ thing that’s on my mind (as it usually is around this time of year) is how important it is to EXPERIMENT! To take th’ BULL, twist it & turn it & shape it’s horns into somethin’ no one has ever SEEN before! I believe that’s just as important in our poetry & spoken word as ’tis in our music!

I know from experience (at writing) that it’s often easy to feel like there’s just nothing more to say… outta’ words, outta’ inspiration – nuthin’ could be further from truth! All that’s called for is a new APPROACH! Go somewhere new, meet folks you’d never think to meet, even EAT somethin’ new/different! Th’ new words/music will come!

One of th’ reasons I spent so many years wandering across th’ face of th’ planet is that each new excursion gave me a different view of what I thought I knew beyond shadow! & yes, it WAS something as simple as th’ breaking of a new-fashioned bread that would get me to realize that there’s ALWAYS something new to say… to write about or incorporate into my music.

What it takes, tho’, is a willingness to (at least temporarily) suspend th’ things we’ve been taught (no matter how gently or forcefully)… to release our preconceived notions & revisit things (literally ANY things) from a new perspective. In my own case, that quite often met EMPTYING my cup (not a very good way to go about this process of rediscovery), so I could refill it! I wouldn’t advise going THAT far for most folks, ‘coz th’ depression can very easily set in – gourd, don’t I know THAT!

Anyway, what brings all this on (for me, anyway) is th’ excitement of preparing to receive a whole BUNCH of new artists & performers into th’ town of Olympia for what’s (over these last 3 years or so) become more than just a tradition – it’s now a NECESSITY! A whole WEEKEND of people who understand that if you want to create something, you have to reach that point I speak of – sorta’ un-remembering all the things we’ve been told, and in that process finding all the new things we hadn’t known were there. Of course, that doesn’t mean that it really IS anything NEW! Purely a matter of

re-shaping, re-crafting & bending/twisting words/music/sound into new interpretations!

Actually, that’s why this issue placed such a strong emphasis on poetry… I wanted you folks to see just how MANY people there are out there that DO this… for that reason, I believe I’ll do this special poetry issue each year! As a part of your re-discovery, jot down an address or two & write those poets (from this issue) who you felt really communicated to you! I can tell you, that’s what’s kept ME going all these years… not just th’ contact, either (though that’s certainly a wonderful part of it) – but th’ new ideas that COME from being in touch with new ways of perceiving th’ things around me!

Please don’t hesitate to provide me with feedback (pro OR con) on yer’ thoughts about th’ poetry issue, either! & keep those poems, tapes & CD’s comin’ to us for review! See ya’ after th’ fest (or, better yet, mebbe’ see ya’ AT th’ fest, eh?)





Rotcod Zzaj J


































































































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