Kiosk 38

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saving the world one page at a time.

“I have heard there are troubles of more than one kind. Some come from ahead and some come from behind. But I’ve bought a big bat. I’m all ready you see. Now my troubles are going to have troubles with me!”

• Dr. Seuss

JEFF HARMS . 14 – 15. CATHY CHAO . 18 – 19. REED PETERSON . 20 – 21.

BROOKE ALEXANDER . 32 – 33. BRIAN WELLS . 34 – 35. JULIA ICENOGLE . 38 – 39.

LEAH HOELSCHER . 40 – 41. NICOLE BAHR . 48 – 49. DANIELLE PETERS . 50 – 51.

JAMES FARMER . 60 – 61. LINDSEY YANKEY . 62 – 63.

ABBY WOODY . Red Bumps .

8 – 9.

a dandelion; January 26, 2008 .

ALEX BERGIN . you newmoon . 10. PAIGE M. BLAIR .

11. JT FOSTER .

Rules for “I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by Howl” .

12 – 13. DAN THOMPSON . Untitled . 16 – 17. PETER LONGOFONO . The Stillness of the Wind . 22 – 25.

DENNIS ETZEL JR. The Tallgrass Prairie Needs People . 26

30 – 31.

– 27.

ADAM MITCHELL .

Misfortunes of the Body .

KIOSK 38 LITERATURE STAFF . Sustainability: A Collaborative, Recycled Poem . 36

TRISTAN BOWERSOX . Palindromic Time . 44 Country Prisms .

52.

valentine .

ROBIN LEWIS . Dust . 52

– 53.

REED PETERSON .

53. BRETT BENEKE . What Death before Noon

56 – 59. JESSE BRASWELL ROBERTS .

A Mother’s Fault .

64 – 67.

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Does to Conversation .

MICKEY CESAR .

– 47.

– 37.

03

âœ

cut me out. dress me. play with me. sing to me.

contribeartors

kiosk bear

kiosk

< literature staff.

donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t be trashy .

RECYCLE!

* sasha graybosch Editor-in-Chief

* robert knapp Poetry Editor

* rachel gray

Fiction Editor

* lindsey campion * andy green

Poetry Editor

* eric margules Copy Editor

Managing Editor

OPTIONAL PAGE NUMBERS 27 29 45 Use these optional page numbers to rearrange and create different orders for the book.

< design staff.

* lesley hunt * chi hiu yim

* kayla heckman * ben suh

38

* amy rottinghaus

* cassie sines

* laura rottinghaus 05

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THESE LEAVES MAKE FOR GREAT COASTERS.

««««««

CUT ALONG THE DOTTED LINES.

KEEP THE EARTH CLEAN, IT’S NOT URANUS

07

red bumps

By Abby Woody I do it for him, for Troy. Every few days, I slip around the bathtub floor, first resting my foot on the rim of the tub, then bending forward, reaching back through my legs, then sitting right down so as to reach into every fold of skin.

I have been shaving off all my hair for Troy for six months now. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m still not sure whether or not I like it.

I towel off my weird lower half, so strangely child-like, being careful not to rub too hard, because irritation happens easy on the new-shorn skin.

Sometimes I lay back on my bed with a mirror afterward, looking for a long time at the trumpet-shape of me, fascinated by the anatomy of me.

Mine doesn’t look like any I’ve seen before in movies or magazines. I know that mine can’t be what Troy imagines when he’s alone (or not alone). I figure that it is some blonde with impossibly neat genitalia; I hear that some women even get things surgically altered down there so as to look more presentable. My seashell-like labia don’t look like that, but I

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think they’ve got their merits. There’s a beauty in them that I can appreciate.

It’s the rest of the skin that is the problem; that’s where the red bumps show up. When the hair starts growing back, it itches, but scratching over the red bumps is a fatal misstep.

They’re ingrown hairs, and you’d never expect that with such a benign name, they’d be so painful. They are.

You’ve got to be careful with what underwear you choose and what position you have sex in and all that.

And you’ve got to be discreet about scratching while you’re at work, making sure not to advertise what it is you’re doing down there, messing around in your lap. You can’t make the red bumps worse, or your Troy may get so mad he’ll leave you, even though you did it for him in the first place.

i do it for him.

STUMPS SUCK

09

no horizon tonight a deep sea leaning on black space seamlessness newmoon stood knee and knee deep as I drifted back-flat and under

you newmoon by alex bergin

her newmoon got her chest wet wading out when I went out Only newmoon my newmoon o love and those darkling cities above

iron-twirled front porch rail

Kansas state flag planted in the front yard. winter, gets so cold

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you forget it will ever warm up.

a dandelion; January 26, 2008

cat. rolling and licking

by paige m. blair

long-haired orange and white

GIVE A DAMN! RECYCLE

11

By JT Foster

Pick a favorite word or phrase as your seed.

The number of letters in seed phrase is the number of lines in your poem.

Generate a random number (0-3) representing a section of Allen Ginsberg’s “Howl.” (“Footnote to Howl” is represented by 0.)

For each line of your poem, generate a random number representing a line number of the “Howl” section chosen.

Create the line using every nth word in the corresponding line of “Howl” in sequence, where “n” is how many of the five vowels are found in your seed phrase.

For instance, if the seed phrase is “apples”: Apples has six letters, you have six lines.

Random number generator gives 2, you use section 2 of “Howl.” Section 2 has 15 lines.

Your random number generator gives 14, 13, 10, 5, 10, 10 as the lines to be used.

“Apples” has two of the five vowels in it, so you use every 2nd word of those lines.

: resulting inI saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by Howl over river! and gone the Highs! Despairs! years' screams suicides!

New Mad down OPTIONAL PAGE NUMBERS 31 03 17 Use these optional page numbers to rearrange and create different orders for the book.

the of adorations! religions! whole of bullshit!

Moloch ! apartments ! suburbs ! treasuries! capitals! industries! nations! mad granite monstrous whose is machinery! whose is money! whose are armies! whose is cannibal Moloch ear a smoking

Moloch ! apartments ! suburbs ! treasuries! capitals! industries! nations! mad granite monstrous

Moloch ! apartments ! suburbs ! treasuries! capitals! industries! nations! mad granite monstrous

13

TAB LE > wo od

SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL FARMERS

15

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N O S P M O H T N A D N Y O B S P M O H T N

BY DA The passage of time is a cubic function: the space between each of us swells with repudiated possibilities, worn out counterfactuals, lost worlds.

b EXTINCTION SUCKS

17

â&#x153;

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do it with the lights off. save energy.

cathy chao

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M A NTA S > wa te rc ol o r

CR IT TE R _F R I E N D S > penc i l

â?¤ LOVE IS IN CLEAN AIR

19

LE AF > pe nc il

donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t be mean. be green!

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PETERSON

reed G LY AN_U LE G G U R ST ncil > pe

SQUASH LITTERBUGS

21

by

peter longofono

"Up!" How odd, the face of his father swimming blearily in moonlight. A flashlight beam swept drunkenly around the room. The noise of a coat hastily buttoned.

"It's so cold."

"Walk close to me. Hurry."

It would be much easier to go out the back door, he thought. The car's back there.

The house receded behind them. It looked ridiculous with the front door ajar, spilling television and heat like the innards of a wounded gazelle. Suburban shadows checkered the sidewalks. He made it a point to avoid them, swerving at times into the suddenly damp grass.

Several minutes passed before he noticed his father crying. It was the trembling on his son's shoulder that betrayed him.

"Dad?"

The grip tightened.

"Dad, where are we going?"

Just then: a great exhalation, a tiring of massive wings.

"There goes the electricity"â&#x20AC;&#x201D;thick with mucusâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;"Keep up."

They turned swiftly into the local park. An artificial hill arrested the gaze, colored only by the moon. Its material fluttered absently in the wind.

"My balloon," his father said, and the lack of ambient noise let him hear a peculiar, quavering pride. "Do exactly what I tell you. It will

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take some time. Wear these." Gloves sailed through the clenched air.

They worked quietly, circling their project in tandem. He tried his best to imitate his father's frustrated grunts. Once, and only once, he was allowed to crawl beneath the bunched fabric, reveling in its vast closeness before emerging on the other side. He smiled, but it was impossible to tell with his father.

Finally it rose, abruptly; an absurd mushroom of a craft.

"Where's Mom?" Seconds. The balloon shifted restlessly.

"Your mother left me while you were dreaming." His father thought the matter closed, for a time. But, observant child that he was, he could not help noticing the puffs of breath coming shorter, faster.

"Get in. It's almost time."

A RIND IS A TERRIBLE THING TO WASTE, COMPOST

23

A muted roar erupted behind him, blanketing them in surprising heat. He watched a tree compulsively caress a telephone pole, tickling the metal with evergreen mischief. The tree noticed the boy and stopped, sheepishly. Thenâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;one by oneâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;so did all the others.

"There goes the wind."

A clank. Something ricocheted, the flame hiccupped, and then they tilted crooked off the ground.

"Stand on the other side! We've got to balance. Take these sand bags."

The rise was slower than he expected. He could not understand the appeal of a ponderous lifting of perspective.

"I'm hungry."

Without looking, his father extracted some beef jerky from his jacket and felt for his son's hand.

When the houses were the size of his thumb, he noticed. It looked like the sun might rise: a careful redness at the horizon, tinging the contours there.

A maroon fog majestically cloaked the earth, swelling as it encountered larger obstructions. It advanced like milk dripped in water, patiently exploding in minute ripples. The moon caught the nuances of its surface. It did not reflect.

They leveled out. The flames nearly died, becoming a delicate Catholic illumination.

There were no screams. Other noises filtered up: a rustle like the sound of an eyelash against a pillow, a woman's husky murmur, an incessant hum.

He did not comprehend the pattern of lights veering at random off the highway.

"Dad..."

"Listen! Watch." He briefly turned the boy to face him, seizing his upper arms.

"Son, you must promise me to remember this. Please. Please."

The look in his father's eyes begged forgiveness. He had no idea.

He watched the shadow of the balloon, flickering.

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Later: "Dad, can we go higher?"

The man paused, his finger coiled around the throttle. He could have been made of marble.

"Yes. Yes, I think we can."

And up they went.

GIVE A SQUIRREL A HOME, PLANT A TREE

25

THE TALLGRASS

NEEDS PEOPLE

By Dennis Etzel Jr. In your pocket-process of trial and error, you took notes for a field guide. But then Bob said, pointing to himself: I think this old geezer needs a beautiful and special place, and the small patches of remaining Tallgrass prairie might conflict with worldwide needs. Soon, websites showed people who settled into the prairie, their grazing cattle walking over the backs of settlers’ bones.

Removing invasive trees is a start to a prairie vision for everyone. A forest breaks a native ecosystem. From the settlers’ view underground, this is where a common ground is found: pull down trees and kill everything fertile. Tourists visit the bio-tech with special skills, take the tour while they listen to his eloquent language as the wind farms come plowing in.

CLUB MUSIC NOT SEALS

27

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use me make a paper airplane

send a love note

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paper undies

frame kiosk artwork

make a paper shotglass

dear

paper undies

check one yes no

sincerely yours the earth

I <3 THE EARTH

29

of the body by ada m mit che ll

cery list.

The wife begins making a gro Does this sound right to you

honey? she asks.

Eggs, you like in your lunches,

those little individual yogurts etc...

, n't bothered to cover herself

He just looks at her. She has

e freckled chest while she

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and rests the pad on her larg

scribbles, erases, then furrows

her brow.

She ignores his silence. ost to his neck,

He pulls the sheet higher, alm exposes his toes.

Light is cruel to her figure.

He can see eraser shavings

on her nipples,

her scars, and still, the body

of the past.

He can't stop her voice from

listing.

He wants to say I love you to keep her voice from listing.

COOL KIDS RECYCLE

31

e k o b ro

J OY > m ixe d m e d ia

dance like no one is watching

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T R E E S > mi xed medi a

AND PLANT A TREE OR TWO

33

_r_

_r_

_r_

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{ WELLS }

TH E_ TR E E H O U S E > i l l u s t ra t i o n

GLOBAL WARMING KILLED FROSTY

35

a collaborative, recycled poem by kiosk 38 literature staff

In Indian country he is native grown wings; but this city with its lone bowl-cut kids is another all boomboomboom like how a heart sounds on high and lonesome plains.

Sweeping glass, baby watching,

she called him a Native American but pronounced it like motor, nostrils clogged with earth and imitation sugar.

Sheâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s never seen so many fireflies.

He can only say yes in the morning.

His penchant for cluttered pockets sends little papers, receipts and dollar bills, fluttering to the floor in spirals.

She screams over the sky:

“Do you love to write?

Do you love animals?

Oh how blasé.

You tell me to give it to you in the ass, not complaining, but a noble boom— as if all drums in all weathers of time til now

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done got boomed at once.”

Their feet catch on a lip. She spits on a horse, leans close to touch treetops— her shark fanged sisters.

He points to symbols scratched across cheeks that say: There is an end to the cycle.

He translates, reads: This is only the middle of the first part of forever.

They are always looking at something but wouldn’t have to if that something would stop making such a ruckus.

All they do is marvel at the sounds themselves, smoke signals caught in trees.

PLEASE, SAVE THE TREES

37

NEARSIGHTED_LOVERS ink and crayons

julia

ICENogLE

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NEARSIGHTED_LOVERS ink and crayons

NATURE NEEDS NUTURE TOO

39

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PE N G U I N S_ 3 > a c ry lic & b a llp o in t p e n

PE NG U I N S_ 2 go u ac he

THROW A PROM PARTY, RECYCLE YOUR OLD TUXEDOS

41

43

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BY TRISTAN BOWERSOX

time

Déjà vecu is what people are really referring to when they talk about déjà vu. It means “already lived” in French. You have a distinct feeling you’ve read that somewhere before.

Maybe not everyone in the world felt it but you felt it. You felt the same as you did a moment before, then two. With every step of the regression it became less distinct. For some reason this spoke to you, like you could remember it from somewhere

before. Déjà senti is the French term to describe the feeling of remembering fleetingly a thought or idea you’ve had in the past.

Perspective draws distant objects together. If you pull back far enough, everything is the same thing.

8

7 Your eye twitches as you suddenly remember that your life isn’t a dream. You pull a lever. The door of your car opens.

You drive to work and everything is the same. You work. You drive home and everything is the same. You pull a lever. The door of your car opens. Your eye twitches as you suddenly

6

remember that when you escape to another life in bed tonight,

it will be a dream.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

When you drive over the dirt road to your home, the dust you pass over is pulled into life behind you. In the red tail-light

5

light he strives after his creator. In the red light he trips and collapses and is pulled into death. The being of dust becomes the dust of the road and waits for you to resurrect him in your lustful red wake tomorrow.

4

The difference between a monkey with a rock and a monkey with a gun is a few hundred-thousand years.

Cause does not become effect. Babies are not pushed into mothers who dissolve them over a period of nine months.

The sun charts no new path across the dome of the sky today.

The sun glides from East to West over the span of approxi-

3

mately twelve hours. Still, you’re sure that the direction has changed. The direction of the universe or the earth or humanity or maybe it’s just you.

But it isn’t just you. This is act three and the theme is rising action. This is act three and the path of time has past a point of

inflection. This is act three and the underlying mechanisms of the universe have started turning the other way. The theme is rising action and the tides of para-physical particles that

influence and shape us so subtly and provide every random seed have reached the end of their pattern. They slow, stop,

{ CUT OUT AND USE AS AN INCH MEASURING DEVICE }

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glow this new being charges after you in the mirror. In the red

2

1

45