FEATURING: Adrian Kien

Adrian, meet Adrian. Adrian, meet Adrian. Hello. I live in Boise, Idaho which isn't too far from Adrian where I live. In Adrian? Yes, but sometimes on the out skirts too. Sometimes I writes poems inskirts too. I lives with Kelly Packer and our two cats, Blixa and Sylvie.


(adrian can also be found @ BlazeVox, Action/Yes and HoboEye)

Flat Light

and one light settles into the ripple of the body’s length with no settled plan the town
echoes its emergencies green grass beneath snow in the silent sleep light the military
graves numb go mute to any outer inner sense
                                         here is my hand but not really                                              a raven circles
the ravine climbs the ridge blue and red flickers flickers off

a distance = to a time of day
                                              say a
                                              slight breeze
                                              the word Idaho
                                              is
- - -
the unconscious spectrum










3-2 8:30 a.m.

remember a mountain to the hand

a body tangled to bodied hills

where
mountains describes snow
at the waist of 

an exchange
of sound

how a hand made a shadow
how the father was a son someone
                             storm
                             wind eye ripped

a lip just touching a breathing frame
 corporeal in its inhalation

heaped upon belly
a valley where to be
                                            young
                                            air
                                            you
                                            hand
                                            disappear











About

I go off
into leaves
in a flipbook
succession of pages
without numbers
just how
without words
can I learn
to decompose like that
not me but bursting
from a father tree
coughing and spittle
a new creak where
a branch was going
can I eat back into
the worm that feeds me










every which way

I said, Are you here?
And you said, yes, you said, I am here.

         ... and I grew where you were 
         from every fingernail
         each shed hair and plucked whisker, yes
         but more every spit and sweat droplet
        every manure was myself
        an earth self we shared
        I was each blood cell
        equally spread thin and deep at
        the earth’s pulse from mother to father
        to dirt and to sunrise  skin
    
        And from space
        they saw me in you on their screen
        a yellow pixel
        next to a blue pixel
        in a green pixel that was water
        in our mouths marked with our mouths
        the last water on the planet
        passing between our lips wherever










Without I am without

On the sounds of Saturday Morning at the threshold of Boise and the Foothills, the
engines, the waterfowl, strangely German, guttural, not only digestion, but other internal
and necessary organs. Discussed.

the things of the horizon – out there at the constant slope
possible air
a brown expanse to be dead in
                                                      in the stomachs of grubs

ach a roaring (of strangling) dawn
now whittled down to its di di
immediated made of a throat in me
down ‘neath the feather down
a snorted comeuppance hill to here
to hear the horns in a v an r
as a vapor            the sun
                               the sun in my lungs
be beneath
the migrations of fowl – their tongues
where my fingers were
                                               an amber eye

a cell passes for one self mit hands
mit spray of spit mit mallards
CO2 O2 CO2 O2 CO2 O2 CO2
transmit from a bodily tower