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Backbone > Poetica
edited by Franci Levine Grater

I like to grab every chance for a new start, any opportunity to forgive, refresh, return to beginner’s mind. Markers that remind me to receive rebirth when it’s offered seem to be key; even cliché rituals can have meaning if we breathe into them. Happy New Year! —F



The Latest News for 99Hooker

talk of spirit is so last century
talk instead of electromagneticity, biochemistry
and the qualities of your synapse.

describe the process;
the ‘how to’ of getting from ‘a’ to ‘b’.
when traveling from muladhara to pineal
let’s hear the story of the DNA highway;
of ancestral proclivities or future possibilities,
of your shape in culture’s mold or how you intend to break it.

mystery is mysterious, its tongue is babble.
myth is quaint, spirit is abrogate
unconsciousness is so vast
let’s just dance what’s unspeakable!

technology and machinery deserve their due;
develop your techniques
collect spare parts
give us your news as intimate art.

—Mark Marinoff


Rhythm

In the fields we flock:
Seeking this breath beating,
Caressing of hearts in hand
Discovering in tonal need;
Taking my soul to places
Only found in song.

—F. Barrett


Grand Canyon

I would have liked to have been at the bottom of it
Unknowingly for years awaiting your arrival

There living under stars and bathing only in streams
drying these few clothes, stretched out on rocks in the sun

And hearing the cracking of dried branches from above
And birds then scattering in sudden flocks

And you have been wondering if there is such a thing,
such a thing as the bottom of such a grand canyon

While thinking about all your life, the beautiful,
all the troubles, about your lovers, and all you gave

And feeling, knowing that you gave it all, all you had
And now something clutches at your throat, ache beyond thirst

I would have loved to have been there, when you discovered
a secret spring, in the cup of these hands, and you drank

—Christopher Porpora


Ask why and
stare when
time leaves.

You recall how
moments trudge
near death.

Stop, friend, and
speak that
gorgeous language.

Cool rain juice
pounds, floods.
Ships heave,

Rise and soar.
Watch now
what incubates.

—K. Boyd

 

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