Poems by / Steven Cline


for Richard Cline (on seeing an old Union Carbide ad)

grandpa was an alchemist

a hermetic disciple

of the fly genitalia

a pacific theatre napalm chef

he drowned his decades

at the center for disease control

that hidden fortress &

temple of occulted scientism

he was

an arthurian knight

in servitude

to the great King Logic

but i like to pretend

that deep deep down

at 400x magnification

before illuminated eye

fly genitalia was transformed

into inky black vessel

writing line after line

of daemonic cuniform

tiny little dreampoems

& itsy bity calligraphy

letters tightly stretching


along cold cold flyskin

O sweet musca domestica

recording your ancient cellscriptures

beneath his evasive eye

& then shyly evaporating

like it never even happened



when microscope was feeling particularly trickster-ish

a few “remote viewing” glitches

a few misplaced schizo-incisions

here & there

did open out to him the colorful panorama of hell

birthing vast multitudes

of tiny trance Creatura

who then did open themselves

to the gift of his knife

but do not weep for them

because under the eyelid of primate voyeur

all existence is slaughterhouse

my my

it seems the silent watcher was quite busy, in fact

for the watcher was birthing new worlds

& we never even knew it

those shifty conversations of his

those hints at a second,

subterranean existence

inside of a white, immaculate labs


after hours

he would lay down on that alabaster floor

his ear to the sullied earth

& listen to the infinitesimal speaking in tongues


these hauntings

were left unreported

to the higher-ups

or even to his grandchildren

but perhaps

a hastily written

kabalistic travelogue

to his interior

still exists somewhere

or elsewhere

& perhaps

his phantasmagorical

mathematical absurdities

are still in circulation



& perhaps

a brooding



a disembodied flysex

can somehow equal

the marvelous new


but to me

he is still


& unmapped





is surrounded





by seven in fact

ominous fellows

a rare insect gold


on balinese shores

or dissected

under deep jungle

shadow light

strange shifty creatures

leathery & cold

one night

drunk high or mad

we harvested them all

& we stapled them together

you and I

we made little sacks out of them

& we filled them with our mud

& we filled them with our saintly childhood artifacts

forced them down the dark unwilling orifice

& pulled hard on the exoskeleton drawstring

we sealed them

forgot them

but now

i touch them

& they feel like hairless dog

i touch them

& they feel like catfish

all slimy & sweet

what a joy

to explore

this impish 13 gallon garbage gnome

I see

as though through abduction cyst

though extraterrestrial transmission

I see a blackbag sailing down the red sea

in an upside-down vessel

made of telephone wire

but the red sea

the red sea has become

a purplish grey sea

& the grey is smiling out at me like a fox

& the mouth is covered in millipedes

& the color is orange



tiny equinox


way back when


i & she

we learn we whisper

we hear all about it

about a certain pastlife life

of mine

delirious & delicious

the creamy white filling

something someone


played at

inhabiting my “i”

danced himself deep

inside my spacial sweeteners

& he lived

as a shiny autumnal wind

& he died

as the denied equestrian

back then we go

to a time that didn’t exist

when my formulations my antithetical musings

my coalescing (s)

my eye (s)

were looking


& with transmutation or transference

i went through the pleasurable bluebody (s)

& into the feminine, liquidic

an entry point manifold

a denial gutted with orange blade

as sky hostage turned rain droplet i fell

towards that sweet running clearness

my voyage to the river

this was

& my very first deepening

because for me

the eye is the magic organ

the only organ

by which i may become un-ghost

& the water’s abracadabra

is everywhere at once

& everytime too

for with a belly wriggle comes the leaf child

& i became the green & prickly fruit

soon devoured

by hyena by kidney

forming both in the process

& I saw many things

in those ascending waters

I saw the obsidian walrus

& the rust-covered oak

I saw an epileptic moon

devour a polka-dotted crab

& I saw so many other things

swept away inside it

but it is at this supreme point that my memories end

& yet

this visionbody desires to follow wildstream further

desires a consummation of sorts

interrogates it opens itself up to it

& down inside the whitening waterwave

a clear discharge of joy

can soon be seen

somekindof glowing signalsign

somekindof furry aquatic syphilis

because the river has long fornicated with the wind

& it has left it many sicknesses

perpetually untreatable

by mollusk or by fawn

& yet we are all luck-stuck

for it has purpose it has desire

it consumes the entropy for the sake of the crystal

just like a friendly little water rabbit

the limbless burrowing blue-hare

really quite nice quite delightful

really a lovable blight

& yet

many men still sigh

many men still pout

for when they dredged up the ancient river

when they raped her estuary

when they dissected her saliva essence

they saw only the same river, magnified

its rivers all the way down they say

what a fraud they say

well butanyways

humanity is just a flowering corpse

joined under the sign of the mammalian gill

& it will soon be forgotten

that’s what river thinks


my big plush fatbody
my trembling obscene sensitivity body
he was ejected into the capitalist cosmos
just a few short hours ago
& O boy
that old
saturday shopping hullabaloo
all out & about
with the rank & file
mind-body softening
and/or copulatin’
with an ever-present sweetened nothingness
just a merry-go-round just a spec a turd
just revolving jelly
when suddenly
O boy O boy
let me tell ya
the big one suddenly hit
the dawn of
Holy Hallucination
& everywhere
but it was only a trial run folks
for these big blue eyes were the only two receiving signal
yes just these sad oceangoing eyes here
viewing it as it happened
the birthing of
& it’s operation felt so smooth
like sidereal gingerbread
like a yellow napkin
sitting on the lap
of our dear naked sally
mischievous sally
the unfolded caught unfolding
or like the epoch of imp
but to be fully accurate
to avoid a tall-tale bush-beating
or the wetness of the academic flounder
i’ll tell it straight
& i’ll tell it narrow
this dawning of surrealist thingamajig?
this prerecorded discontinuity?
& I was standing right on top of it
right down in the middle of it
somekindof juicy Infestation Station
somekindof demented Fae altar
to the god of putresce
& those tiny little creatures
they gnawed so deeply
they turned my little pink baby toe
into a red bloody swollen toe
but they did so with pleasure
& i stood with pleasure too
for here all was pleasure
even a toe pain even a jellyfish algebra
& even a stray thought
could gain itself freedom
could cut itself loose
shoot hoops
& these blue lovereyes
of mine
these old rip van winkle eyes
they were embraced by this land
became like the love of flower for the skinned fist
& yet
fuzzy-faced rationalist
that you are
you soon whispered to me
asked me about the upper plane
about how they were getting along
up there
you wondered about the ancestral land
the land of poem’s origin
ah well
still just mall
grocery store
too-sweet candy shoppe
because a rabid sugar intolerance
is the primary feature
of every alien abductee
& way up there
in the blue
the cafeteria of alienation
is still run by dogface dog
the same old played-out circus
inside the marxist hippodrome
sick rats
on a sick ship
& other such banalities
but upon the lower—
there the ventricle is left open
& the carrion is wise
there the whole black hole mythos
is painted a bright red
& inside this deepening
our spiral of flesh
is sucking away
ever so gently
or not so gently
upon the haughty body
of the Upper Floors
in secret cosmic fellatio
our fleshspiral is imbibing thought
is reshuffling every this-and-that’s
a subtle influencer our heroine
all that is corporeal
all that shits & all that eats
& every little bird
& every little bee
& every little organchild
from the stomach
to the spleen
shall become enchanted
& the domain of the anus
shall henceforth duplicate
into the warm infinity
& the flower shall devour the eye


Star Vessel Nine is a pea pod filled with black hole

They may be removed safely & will fit in the palm of your hand

They are globular & will feel like sun-warmed gummy bears

Though they are still inedible

Star Vessel Nine is the spirit of the distance of the line (between two points)

The above mentioned may be illustrated as follows:

the anus of the dog  ————————— the iris of the king

Star Vessel Nine is above he-who-is-above

and above-that-above, too

<ha>don’t worry this computer is merely jesting</haha>

It also has a low breeding rate

Star Vessel Nine’s complex pea pod structure was formed under a blinding Egyptian sun

(the last millennium or so if computer had to guess) & cultivated with love & care inside the collective armpits of a well-baked early Gnostic sect called SCHIZMANDI (so placed because an abundance of perspiration was key)

Star Vessel Nine’s first playmate was a course black hair

Star Vessel Nine’s average life expectancy has not yet been established

Known Weaknesses of Star Vessel Nine:

• Like a turtle, the pea pod cannot right itself once flipped

• Exposure to mathematical paradox can lead to cellular degeneration

• Neutered specimens show higher levels of melancholia

A strong dosage of benzedrine may been prescribed in such cases

Studies show a success rate of 75%

Bonus Question

Which of these can grow inside a Star Vessel Nine womb?

A) a frog zeitgeist in movement

B) a tadpole on the march

C) a celestial desert baby

(The answer is D)


the surface of sun is not flame

the surface of sun is intestine

I see


twisty tubes

I see

pink orb congregations

sew together as one

I see

an intestinal sun

precariously sustained

on darkmatter nutrient

& light is the byproduct

the waste it expels


little green grub

has lost his shoe

& little green shoe

has lost its lace

& little green lace

has lost its grub

and so on

little green grub

masticates with joy

& joy masticates with him

joy copies all his mouthmovements

because joy is unrepentant voyeur

& joy is insufferable hanger-on

in conclusion

little green grub

turns his spade

& his spade sheds a rainbow

for this was the season of the chromazoa

the waste it expels


i seem to be dropping flesh as i walk

bones turning to jelly

leaving scarlet & ivory slaughterhouse lines

just drippy drip dripping along, yes

and skipping along too

my exsanguination attempt

is giggling


across the Main Street sidewalk

a sentient viscera blob dreaming one last dream

in Cartersville Georgia

Mr. American Town USA

i’m on my way to Findley’s Butcher Shop

and it’s a meet & greet, y’all

i’m the traveling circus freak

and you all are invited

to come give me a taste

lay down in stickiness and be subsumed

within my human snail trail

behind the meat

and the bones are glowing

like cheap glow sticks made from yogurt

like a platypus raver’s drugdream

inside an Australian riot pond

like a speckled horse cock covered in green fungal rape

or the Pacific Ocean molded into gelatinous cube

and tossed inside the black-hole orifice of space mouse,

that devious cosmic mammalian

kept eternally high

on a steady drizzle of amphetamines & yellow squash

dripping from the mouth of a bellybutton lint-diamond

on one very surprised southern gal, sweet Henrietta,

her umbilicus unveiled to the world under the light of a shining roman candle phallus

on the fifth of July



ooh la la

how’s it all end, grandpa?

The End:

body all gone

lost my yogurt bones, too

just popsicle

it’s a very nice day for a walk,

but since I can no longer walk,

or even roll,

i think I will spend the rest of my day writing invisible poems

you can leave


for Jean Rollin

there is panic in fairyland today

two lovers are caught

in spiderwebbing of grey concrete

two lovers becoming shadow

meet redboy

a solar acolyte

who hides himself

inside himself

who shudders

in disease

who expands

like deluded caterpillar

meet yellowgirl

she is the yellow

that purrs out

from inside the black

the mirror that does not reflect

the last station the last stop

the final essence of a world

behind atom

behind quark

she is deepest jewel

in whispering movements

& vibrating fleshsong

she writes for us

a gothic bodypoem

in adoration

to the clavicle & the cranium

to each & every beautiful bonekid

brought up by shivering vampire

O absent yellowgirl

you bring this seeking little vertebrae

to the borderlands of ecstasy

between two blue thighs


silent death

that invisible watcher that kinky voyeur

is given fresh reason for discharge

his alabaster seed

comprising mainly of ghost

linger your promenade


cast it out

across this delicate void

& bleed out in velvet

for yours is the face that oscillates


let me take you on a journey friend

dark room

no ceilings

no walls

you see

2 spherical goblins


you see

1 elongated worm


you see

an obsidian goat climb a wooden chair

while the silver wind wraps an electron

if you ask this room

whether your fleshbody is unwelcome

it’s dead air no response

just the shriveled spirits receding


like a thousand tiny crabs

poor fellow

your pupil deepening

your eyelid convulsed

you have become primary observer

inside this vaporland

inside this shifting unseen

poor fool

you take it all in

above you

the echo of insect

inside cooling temperature

below you

rubber floor

with fractures sevenfold

& muscles articulating

within you

heavy metal gateway

on which is written


& it is by you that these letters are tasted

all at once

there is a jittering

a swaying

the white clothesline is pulled taut

& it breaks

her overripe boundary penetrated

in a flash of etheric pink

some vast invisible presence

filled with desire

is reaching out for one blue eye

is reaching for the beautiful blue eye of your face

collages by steven cline


my belly is a crab

& so is yours

we taste this ‘verse with our odors

be spin it in the cotton candy fallacy

we drink it like a frog with no gullet

& grow patches

along the treasure of our fur

we’ve got a back catalogue of ecstasies

that we’ll never use

we’re a goofy mammal, yes it’s true

we don’t like to use the lavatory

even though it’s been filled with kindness

& we don’t like to squander a lick

we think a skinned llama

the epitome of style

but we’re afraid of the ensuing redstuff

cuz we don’t like liquids

prefer solids

hate gas

there nothing more trustworthy

than a good granite rock

we say

& nothing like a casual stroll among salamanders

to really turn the stomach

we’ve formed numerous committees

the anti-slime committee

the anti-wetness committee

the anti-CO2 committee

these committees take up most of our time

but eradication must leave no survivor


the non-solids haven’t taken this lying down

the mist often strangles us

will pour sugarjuice in our hair

brush off our toenails

& force us to take summer baths

the sight of epsom salt or the smell of lavender

for us these remain a trigger

to all kinds of negative memories

that we don’t think any psychiatry can help

& as for ocean

two or three years ago

just another

pleasantly bourgeois

family vacation

it was

bathing suits & all

when suddenly

we were rudely abducted

tied up by the atlantic ocean

& forced to eat sea foam

forced to listen to the erotic poems of a seal

& the philosophical diatribes of the clam kingdom

yes as strong ropes of algae cut into our wrists

we were forced to suckle at the teat of the deranged starfish queen

while six hermaphroditic sea snails recited their aquatic folklore


& the queen’s milk was as salty as the sea


after feeding she grew tired of us

& the rest of the aquatic fiends dispersed

cruel joke having run its course

all this to say

that the beach is a land of darkness & perversion

proof that water cannot be trusted

& that all moistness must be stopped

i burned my bathing suit on that day

& i’m never going back


what is a cat?

a cat is spongy goosecake

the first childish inkling

of the existential tick

on the back of the flavorful tortoise

a transgressive hors d’oeuvre

a cat is also a flea


as everyone knows

the small is the large

and the large is the small

yes a cat is very simple, a cat is algebraic

but the mathematics do not sit well

in the belly of this beast

a cat knows many things

like how to skin a lamb

in order to play the flute

like how to operate a guillotine

in order to befriend the rose

a cat knows many many things

that we’ll never ever know

but anyhow

a cat is a cat

and that is that

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