« Martin Rock | Contents | Matt Hart »

Katherine Factor



My throat sends an alert -

The mushroom-picker has come.


Thirsty, he makes his pruning hook a divining rod

Shaking it all the way to the citadel.


The site a sight. A citation

Of the city’s ages & usages.


Beneath, my subterranean spring adores a discovery

For it to flush & flow once more. 


When Perseus confronts the mooing sisterhood

We hiss&moo. A pentatonic scale, the lowing


Of the cattle is our sound. We call the moon down

Relatedly Io. This type of plucking is conducive to his purse.


Depending on the substrate, the matter & habit

Determine how much bloodletting will ensue.


The lions indicate a femaleness. A foreign name

Refounds the town:  Mystae, even. Mykes in Greek.


Mukānai, Mykenes, My keys. Willingly

I let go of my head. I have already forgiven


The man who faltered, fulfilling his oracle

He who let the cap fall off his shady bed.


Visions of the city all around him.

His thirst a replacement for wonder.



Beating the Bounds


we can do It any time of year

whenever the dance–construct instructs


one way: Februara = the month of purification

your houses swept and spelted


the women & fields slapped

with skins      with skins or hides


ghosts out of hiding     holes are opened

when the first flowers appear


perhaps later called/call Pan

Lupercal        cave     of the suckling she


wolf            me  & salt cakes       are offerings

loin clothes    youth-donned


obeying the wedding goddess

a riot older than the moon


media heims “middle winter”

ministers go nude


grass life in grass houses

we do it we trade clothes


slapped by goatskins     the earth

so nude    winter’s middle


goes nude   but after   you

cannot touch me    it is February


middle winter   month of marriage

felt ensnaring another burial


stood an altar in the cave -

goat coats fashioned into a thong   whip


before we bury it    we purify & check it through

thoroughly the infertile are struck





I do I do


live in

light time



are consumed

by the mystery


the mute

can hear both

a distant noise


& a subsuming



an emerging




skin seal

from the canal


a car passing

an ant

a pastor in the night


Did they know

if they spent


any significant

mind sleeping



would suspect

that the living

would convert


and don shirts

a pleated     and mtn’d



as incongrous

   as the pineal expulsion

when dreaming


a model

of the groin

in the folds


Did they plan

for the daywalkers


to discover

the keyhole

and stick fingers

in it, flicking


a switch

as we subsist

with the mini


veil behind it


We smushed

up on the access


of the idea itself


the battery in hand

gelid at first -


a bee

shaking its pollen

leg pouch


after it

entered the center


gently inserting

nectar into

an office


a swallow

makes mud



for the nest

by vibrating

« Martin Rock | Contents | Matt Hart »