Ok. Here's part 2 of Don’t you have a map?, a collaborative, traveling essay in letters 'twixt Erika Howsare & Jen Tynes. They started this little adventure through blogs at The Pines. Now they're stopping at the Arc.

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Part 2, J to E-

"Crow is a very old word." I'll pick this straw and draw a revelatory, a revolver. Visit Steven Stankiewicz's crowbar, http://www.alicebernstein.net/Aesthetic_Realism_Fathers/crowbar.jpg,

Which sends you back to the garages, takes you out to the woodshed, determines your printer's mark. The crowbar is a deed.

The crowbar is capable of maintaining its own engine but it likes your fire/water, asks if you sign.

Asks, am I the surface for attracting these? Hobbyists, book-readers, people who bend the pre-arranged. The office is the place we go to view our propose duty.

Crowbar will: vet all the proposed animals. Put out the 'you mean business' signs.

Crowbar is always at the office, in its glass case, which can only be broken open by another crowbar.

Doubt it. Late night in the woods. At the (post) office today I was met by a treeful—loud, mystified, waiting for my shingle to fall.

Before that, from a distance, a half-deserted dog park.

Before that, below the bridge, whitecaps.

Is this being indirect? Crow + bar = parity-time. The puns are not wrong. Crowbar is a wedge. It keeps you from short circuiting.

"It meant that," uncomfortable in the belly of the form, the speaker knows their faith.

Presses their shape into the membrane of the belly of the form or else sends blowhole smoke signals.

Stop by here (http://www.mclaren.gs/whales_ear.htm) and see form in parts.

(Crowbar tells, discerns, the living from the islands when they unhinge their big eyeballs, look around and spurt....)

"Others were painted, often with a human face."

This is certainly a comic fantasy of mine. This is certainly direction.

The crowbar likes to be as instrumental as possible; in all manners of knowing this is why we're gone sweet on it.

Why we crystallize with focus. We suck on the rocks to get better. (See also through cadence, classification.)

If I darken the doorstep of the crowbar with my shadow, I grow a crowbar place.

Am I a surface that says these things? Is my crowbar on my sleeve? Sticky tack and velcro. Slip-ons and dry erase:

All manners of knowing yours. Before whitecaps, beneath a bridge, I heard a tromping which put the God in me, and I heard the tromping do it.

I heard the crow bar out.

A form-whale, when it arrives, arrives everywhere. http://manana.mccorison.com/images/040510/Beached%20whale%20bones%201.JPG When is this going to get bone-dead serious?

E responds to J at http://www.typomag.com/burningchair/ in March. Please visit http://www.horselesspress.com/amap.html for the whole hog.
Email Erika & Jen: editors AT horselesspress DOT com.