Eve sees the End by Fianna (Fiona Russell Dodwell)

Eve sees

Eve grew Steve. They grew, Eve n Steve, tended bees; strewed seeds. Every street grew trees; seeded new streets. They expected resentment: Serpent’s sneery eyes between ferns; Keeper’s legs-knees-feet; grey-green jeers.  Elsewhere edgy Emmy hedged her bets, kept fleet feet, met every beetle-creep, sentry-sleep.  Ely’s elders tweeted, begged less greed. Sheets pressed deep red cheeks. Ely’s levees seeped.

The next events were never well remembered: Steve n Eve expelled themselves. They slept between tents; trekked, veered west. The clerks rebelled. Empress Ellen, never there when needed, left the next week. Her greedy cheeks, her greedy feet, her helpmeet Emmy, swept between the elders. The elders were entrenched.  Yet we knew when the defences went; when Ely’s temple fell: fletch-embedded, the Fen Decree flew news.

Few were left end Twenty-Seventeen. Ellen, Emmy, less well-dressed, never meet, knee western streets. Steve and Eve? They settled where they fell; grew fewer trees: these were replete.

Even Stevens

the End    


& if shame by David McLean

a pointless except to remember, because pain is a deft teacher – & evil & wrong just a bad, an obnoxious. & a pillow is razors & offensive – here are the slow gods, their tedious prayer a huge forgiveness. night is a truculent vampire inside me, & day a fighting dog happy. here we assemble a huge absence, a dead flower. time is a cigarette in my pregnant fingers, i stub it into nothing; it is not important. you are whatever eternity is &, i can save existence for your every instant.

here is a great silence arrogant as absence – words are scissors & innocence, & i can tell you, Emma, where every god is always missing there is no such thing as distance – the world folds a caterpillar, a cocoon – which is whatever it is that love is.

between my ribs by David McLean

lives inexorable empty & only you there, & that only fragments & dust. every temporary being we shed like skins no longer needed because they have forgotten their meanings. the sun is in the heaven her psychotic dance – she moves so slow i barely notice & light is there for hurting. thus here is the abject, the leaf in me arrogant as every other answer ever.

still you protect me from morning & its swords, its murders, the psychopath sun. i might say i contain multiplicities once, but i am Celt so none of them get on very well together & we only want to burn down the world & zombie dentistry, illusions &, to sing love ugly & very much out of tune. 

between my ribs every word forgotten. there is a terribly patient suffering, it waits for the sun to come back, it is the same maybe in everyone i do not know. (if a tit happens to fly into a room it will panic, it will fly around beating itself against the walls until its little heart stops, so one must move fast like an animal & catch it in one’s hand feeling its tiny heart thunder & let it free under the innocent sky to hope it lives forever.) 

between my ribs i have forgotten me & there is only you, Emma, my shame & the nightmarish affirmation Nietzsche said is the only thing that really matters. i say “yes” “yes” & “yes” to every suffering there ever was in me its optimistic eternity. “yes”, Emma, forever & again. it hurts to love you, but there is nothing better.

& always you by David McLean

there is this anxious night & always you i cannot precisely see. Emma i wait as always & love is in me a helicopter, a bizarre computer, a remote control. beauty is not my fault & i am a naked man trudging through snow & happy are the fires that burn distances, the slow rise of the sap to leaf the trees a meaning.

i need you a diagram an equation to show me the precise possibility of love & jungle. here is your word, Emma, here is the anxious that cripples us, night & dust. i forgot i do not wait, we wait together & you must give me your anxious like an innocent illness so i can return it love to make it taste like nothing, the most lovable perfectly normal everyday suffering.

& you are the best of me forever, my blood my marrow, the idiot scars over my gray & damaged skin & whatever it is in them that still listens. i raise my finger to my lips & give it to this sacred wind to tell me your broken, your heart which is home & love was always you – the wind will not let me live my ignorance & it sings Emma, Emma forever.

you dance my absence – i do not exist apart from text except that i love you, not words but blood & heart.


Details of David McLean’s various books % chapbooks at http://mourningabortion.blogspot.com/ & http://davidcmclean.wordpress.com/. A ninth full length is due from Antiseptic Press & called EMMA FOREVER. These poems are from that book http://podphotopodmore.wixsite.com/antiseptic

My Blogspot. & my WordPress.

too much human, chapbook & antinatalist manifesto from Black Editions

of desire & the desert, poems from Black Editions

passion is dead flesh, chapbook from Black Editions

Henrietta remembers, novel from Oneiros Books

flesh & resurrection, novel from Oneiros Books 

nobody wants to go to heaven but everybody wants to die, poems from Oneiros Books

things the dead say, poems from Oneiros Books

of desire & the lesion that is the ego, poems from Oneiros Books

Zara & the ghost of Gertrudepoems from Oneiros Books

Double U by Mark Young

I head south. Down Highway #1, the main National Highway. Two days & I could be in Sydney. I think about it seriously.

But. Arriving in Sydney in shorts & sandals & T-shirt? Worn for two days? & it’s still fucking winter down there .

So. No. & anyway, that’s not the purpose of this little jaunt.

I’m entranced by placenames. & in my travels up & down this stretch I’ve seen signposts pointing to Upper Ulam. Several of them, different roads. The name intrigues me. I think of Mongolia, Ulan Bator, Ulaanbaater, & wonder if there are yurts in the hinterland.

So I go, past Midgee, past Gavial, past the Nobel explosives factory. Think about dropping in & asking for a prize. Almost as far as Bajool. Those faraway places….I’m heading for what I think is the third road to double U. It seems to be sealed, at the beginning at least, but that’s no true indicator. Six Mile Road it turns out to be called — the early European settlers were really inventive with their naming; I’ve seen so many six mile, nine mile, twelve mile, creeks, roads, penny arcades in my roamings — & no signposts apart from the name. &, inevitably, six meters up the road is a sign saying gravel road, & six miles up the road it ends at the front gate of somebody’s property.

Retrace my steps. Take the next turn-off. Gravel road, though not really. More like compacted clay, light brown, the odd bit of gravel on it. & then, in the middle of nowhere, tarseal. It’s something that’s quite common round these parts, sealed road for no apparent reason, not at the beginning, not near anything that might pass for a settlement (two or more houses). Just appears in the middle of nowhere.

Follow the road, come to the intersection where the right turn obviously heads back to the highway & the other turn-off. Head left, slight rise, tar seal stops, pass the Upper Ulam Recreation Reserve, further on another intersection. The Upper Ulam Road heads off to the right, the Ulam Connection Road to the left. Follow the latter since there are signs on it saying it’s a school bus route & maybe it even goes to Ulam. If there is an Ulam. Horseshit on the road. Turns into a fucking goat track after a couple of kilometers. I turn around before I turn into a goat.

Retrace my steps again. Take the upper Upper Ulam Road. Quite a few properties with unromantic names, including XXXX which is proclaimed by a purloined metal advertising sign. (New South Wales joke: Q. Why do Queenslanders call their favourite beer XXXX? A. Because they can’t spell fuck properly.) Cattle & horses on the properties, but nothing close enough together, not even a circle of yurts, to suggest a settlement. Realise that Ulam is probably the name of the valley I’ve been going up & down. No idea where the name comes from. Unlikely that it’s mathematical, even though “… the Borsuk–Ulam theorem (BUT) states that every continuous function from an n-sphere into Euclidean n-space maps some pair of antipodal points to the same point” & that could possibly make some sort of sense here.

Stop at the Reserve to have a cigarette. Looks looked after or at least the grass is short. Tables & benches under cover, a couple of barbeque plates, toilets — although probably just a hole in the ground — & a chunk of marble (?) mounted on a concrete base, a meter or so high, half a meter deep/wide, quite attractive actually, flecked with silica that reflects prismatically in the sun, & with a small plaque mounted on it saying that this was a 1988 Bicentennial project.

Haven’t seen many birds. A few currawongs & magpies. No crows, not surprising since they’re highway birds, where the pickings are better. But out of the car there’s quite a bit of bird noise. & not much else.

So, head home again, thinking of that line from J. K. Baxter —”How many roads we take that lead to Nowhere” — & putting a line through Upper Ulam on my list of places to meander to when the mood takes me.


from ‘echonone’ by Michael Mc Aloran

(.what resonates is the sound of zero cracking apart.)
(…of the no nothing of/ unspoken of through which or/ no not of a/ of the eye no merely nullified/ unto erased through procession bled/ closed in upon as if it/ in stagnate of/ asks of the nothing more/ no nothing more of/ no not following on from ever-nothing ever of/ solace forgotten in ashen cast upon bankrupt earth design/ a sky rendered absent of colourings/ yet settlement of/ through black light sharp discard of all unto hollow in or on or from/ the acrid reek of the un-saying/ dreamed thin/ exposed…)
(…no not of/ of the no further ever asking of/ other than as if it/ voice what voice/ no nothing of a/ if/ nothing of/ extinguished eye obsolete/ as if to have ever-having other than/ blind witnessed blinded other than/ in/ of/ another/ another/ as if it were/ could be/ silent all the while/ nothing still yet solvent/ in mark as if to/ seizure collapse of/ if no/ sung seizure embalm/ upon bankrupt/ yes/ no/ yes or no/ recoil/ another/ another/ recoil of absent traces…)
(…asks no further into or or if/ (‘regards to the)/ astray in hand/ shaft-black hollow/ ask what matter/ none/ no further into if/ echo-echo absent now/ returns thin words that dissipate of/ no voice/ vacant spaces nothing/ the imprint erased in silenteeism/ delible collapse yet silence ever-decibel/ nothing no longer recognition through/ or of/ in/ no further traces/ distances yet no/ all distance yes forgotten/ origin forgotten/ blind traces/ forgotten realms…)
(…in lapse non-lapse/ utterance collapse rescind relapse expel undone/ silence silence knock upon absent no longer the vapours of it/ burned clear/ not a sound merely simulacrum/ rot sound upon decay no longer the/ in/ absent blindwhite no static yes no dark’s reclamation of/ the voice devoured/ remnants cast/ yet untraced returning as if to/ lock unto premise/ premise no no longer given axial suffocate of final word/ what is/ ever if in now/…)
(…viewed from the lack of/ or vantage point of disappearing spaces/ of the blood spent in/ expelled by/ in view of/ naught of/ the lie the dream’s eradicate/ words no more than traces of a silent realm/ in-dream yet of a sun long foreign/ walls upon in given laughter tidal final/ beyond sight or/ wilting echoing out into the nothing claiming all/ spitting out the/ silenced by the nullity of…)
(…from in eye of suspend/ of the vocal attribute snuffed/ silenced respond of a silent response/ no longer other/ demise what yet of/ in/ structure fragment structure fade into/ done with long done it cannot be vocalised/ (‘perhaps the stripped skin of animal a-breathe/ raw embers upon’)/ no nothing of it/ no glimpse in that and so back to endless silent/ blind cataract of breathe/ spill upon/ ever unto/ negated/…)
(…bleak yes or no the word(less)/ out where there the word bleak yes the/ yet silenced/ no nothing more of the trail from absent/ the absent from/ erasure of/ lights fragments a clear film of shadowing/ in the whisper as if to unto for/ if the whisper were as if/ unto/ wall of sky a backdrop of final nothing/ lights fragments deemed as if there were/ vocalised/ and yet unsung/ the collapsed voice/ the/ uttering none of all/…)
(…the voice seeks distances beyond/ else/ which/ stray bite upon absent air/ the subject shears it has no image collective/ recollect/ impales the eye/ eye recoils into the silence/ echoing out from yet it clasps the severed light cast upon through denuded eye upon/ through absent definition/ mere sound and the breath’s recoil from out of which/ the voice seeks blindly/ the words of which fail/…)
(…of the bite it is the/ stone lack/ fades from out of design/ grasps yet from point of which/ fails dry speech of/ retort of/ unto/ voice no/ clamour yes/ bite a-breathe of seek what matter/ nothing more vast nor detached than if/ as if/ what matter if/ subtle/ violent/ inept/ spills from the lung of speech rot through of bountiless eye’s lock/ drift what clear/ in severance tidal/ bled out…)
(…in ocular roving of in-speech/ of speech retract/ buckles under no not of/ emptily/ piss upon final embers/ as if to enflame no not/ breath aligned no not of/ in/ or of/ of the fragments of till waste/ spoken/ burnt black/ clear as liquid undefined/ in the face of/ what this/ of this/ trace yes or no/ sunk judder of cerebrum recoil/ eye/ un-eye in the darkness/ rummaging finding only further/ dead zone/ unquantify/…)

Excerpt from ‘the zero eye’ by Michael Mc Aloran

bone break
…the breakage lingers/ for as long as the bone concedes/ yet gathering nothing of the split breath spanning the breathless of benign/ asking of a sky bereft of anything less or more than a wing’s expanse/ a dry hack in violent abandoned silences/ then echo of till sudden wrench of spleen/ an opening hand/ to follow/ caresses the bone shadow until silenced/ motionless/ the laughter-lung expiring from out of the flayed earth/ no hunger lest to follow on from silences escaping/ a-wrenched once more unto the brief bereft/ all spun/ sung/ silenced/ what matter/ drifting as of ablaze through spit long shale of a deft absence/ cleft the amber of the lung’s abound/ no nothing/ abounding/ cleft of light till words abound repeat/ headless as if to ask of/ seasoned then/ as if to gift the night from out of the sanded dusts of/ hollow semblances…
…(or perhaps a fragment here or there/ asking of the pitch pivot the screaming edge at the edge of which the edge of a glistening blade/ to caress a spent light havoc of until occluded/ fucked/ forgotten/ whispers of silenced less than ever was/ before)…
…the breakage lingers/ as long as the flesh is (de)parted/ fleshed abandon a blessed tide of breakage lasts as long as the bone forgets/ a tryst of the redeem in wisp of bloodless letting/ dry stead in a winter absence/ amber of the lung’s abound/ repeat till silenced motion splayed once more an open hand of spleen of the lung’s abound…for the nothing of the unforgotten/ the un-remembered/ the stretched lungs of promise-else/ here or there a pissoir’s dreaming in arachnid coma of tumour/ benign lights sudden to unfold striking out/ basking of/ convex/ paring away the head spasm/ lock-held/ where nothing can touch merely embers to caress…
…(flies upon blood-flecked snow a menagerie of teeth/the sunlight glistens upon the wings of the outstretched nothingness claiming the all/ for not/of the forgotten the un-remembered/the piss of this or that of the beneath silences masquerading as some form of punch-line to the emasculation of bitter seeds smearing their nothing in spite of/as if to say/or nothing having/begun no not uttering nothing having been claimed or else forgot-ten/smears of animals upon clear glass/time eradicated/collapse of breath in the breathing spasm/ turning upon the heel of the undone till ask of/threatened none/exhaled/dreaming else/ dreaming all the while/the flies will gather/nothing more)…
…the lingering bone breakage seared-snapped/ a callous of violet winds till breach from nowhere left to else or of the spasm fading/ there is blood flecked in the vacant eyes/ dense walls of shit-smeared permutations/ aching of none or of the next until/ some solace in/ streaming forth/ break now or forever be in havoc lights/ blending with the amber of the nothing known the nothing cared for/ snap-snap the sudden ache of debilitate/ the liquid hands delve through soil/ restless the maggot truth of a sky absent of less than ever was before/ an ache of flesh of meat what spun till entropy/ atrophic/ drugged to the bones in shine of abattoir kaleidoscopic/ a catascope in roomscape of sudden amber/ the split wrists of benign self-execution/ throughout the syringe dusts to caress the callused exigency/ of lack lest there was never enough beauty to keep the absence the lack the searing nothing of the none/ in dismemberment of the heretofore/ the silent executioner smiling/ the old airs rising as if to snatch the breath from out of speech/ useless speech/ useless echoings…
…(draft none/alack/a reek of some solace pyre/ breathing out/settled never settled/ stepping forth till back again once more in glint of blood-flecked snow/dust/and the bleak hand cold covering the mouths of babes/shredded silences/ echoes ever/ onwardly…)
the zero eye coverart


Michael Mc Aloran was Belfast born, (1976). He grew up in Co. Clare. He is the author of a number of collections of poetry, prose poetry, poetic aphorisms and prose, most notably ‘Attributes’, (Desperanto, NY, 2011), ‘The Non Herein’ & ‘Of Dead Silences’ (Lapwing Publications, 2011/ 2013), ‘Of the Nothing Of’, ‘The Zero Eye’, ‘The Bled Sun’, ‘In Damage Seasons’,(Oneiros Books (U.K)–2013/ 14); ‘Code #4 Texts’, a collaboration with the Dutch poet, Aad de Gids, was also published in 2014 by Oneiros. He was also the editor/ creator of Bone Orchard Poetry, & edited for Oneiros Books (U.K 2013/ 2014). A further collection, ‘Un-Sight/ Un-Sound (delirium X.), was published by gnOme books (U.S); and ‘EchoNone’ & was also released 2015 by Oneiros Books…’breath(en) flux’, a chapbook, was recently released by Hesterglock Press. Black Editions Press recently released ‘in absentia’ & ‘In Arena Night’…