Stamen’s Patch (2009)

Ian Hatcher, voice
Jeff Gburek, electronics
Rebecca Bach, clarinet
Martin Taxt, Tuba
Eric Leonardson, field recording

Presented in stereo and 5.1 recorded versions, and live in Chicago.


I am freed from danger,
yet I need a cavity to convert me –
an approaching burrow
for my spouse and her delivery.

In my list:

a subtle chest behind which lungs ever appear be sunken into

a funnel that points to directions where a storm seems surging


Virga Spokes clad in newborn clothes

lamina dust between frons, and gest

figuring Spring

a fallen padded nest over a trim of grains
shaved its feet and solely strands

Moss and Feet stepping both on molding clay
one stamps its texture, the other – threads

I am expectant of a cleave

if born,
a pea family that migrates onto a flaky pin
tip run across them
chiefly stung to uphold their means of reform,
and free will

(what it means, i can’t tell)

if unclothed,
a ceiling that irrigates by pedals and windows that reply that concern

a soot crust that hangs, then recedes

spume supplier

an opal ashtray that may only capture by staples

all the water that is constantly running

(rattle, stroke…)

Rosal Smoke
(mushrooms into nimbus, yet an anti-halo)
citing the voices of and for down, and velum

a shiny pot
tickling a contort whisk – smiling

Pedicel quivers over the overall body:
between the joints – static, wilt;
uneven above the head, and inside:

warm, wet sepals

a flock of boats

heavy things held well by webs;
Ovum behind a thunder wall –
imagining time flat

[Pestle played a lull that strains either:

grin or grimace]

dim tarn,
swarm where the bees call,
it will make me sing:

outleap turbulence
the contour of a mask
held by just one staple
but what it is..?

a leaping offering,
the node of a stone

[what’s behind it?]

splitting the joint

(powder polish fills a bowl)

and the seethe

and the fife

and my bridle.

a sound to bend the edges of this Bindward Scale
owed to the collision of a faint flash, a rolling marble,
or a constant hint

a quest for trace of transient hockets

a Tuba pulling a cliff from spheric pointers –
waxed from surface spills, it’s size
in pruning increments


a design to mill shadows
light defraction on flour


sideways, intended:
varnish and suns on leafs and sills, and halls;

(flat, unbend)

With this intend to coax me

a malleable path leading both home – and out

(what we call process is this storm)


I precipitate, and I am pregnant too;
there is a balcony and a volcano of like descents.
I mustn’t spoil.

I haven’t been known to diverge,

(the bridge is free-floating)

yet this garden must outline something.

“May this be my patch of down and flat.”