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Life on the Edge

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Rising to the Surface

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It All Comes Down

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Hope Chest in the Attic

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Blister and Burn


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Chapter 38 (v2)
This volume is available in two forms,
with Slightly different contets:
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Chapter 38 (v2)


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finally, literature for
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finally, literature for the snotty and elite


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finally, literature for
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Chapter 48 (v2)
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Chapter 48 (v2)

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to the Bottom of
the Earth and Back

a chapbook of poetry written by Janet Kuypers over many years,
read live in Chicago 9/26/18 in her feature at the “In One Ear” open mic.

o the Bottom of the Earth and Back - poems from Janet Kuypers
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This is Where I Life
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Idle Hands
cc&d, v344, the 4/24 issue

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In the
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the page


to inspiration

and you would still appear, appear in
the paper
I held in my hand,

rippling waves in the pages before me,
a dorsal fin
of a shark circling my head,

watching its prey. I could touch
the page
and still feel

the rose I threw over the mahogany
box in the
November cold,

the grass covered with ice, cracking
every time
I took a step toward you.

I could feel the pain in the paper, and
I could
still feel the cold

marble, freezing my fingers. And the
etched message
on the stone could still

took hold of me the way you did.
All I had
to do was look at your

writing and feel the blood rush, feel
your breath
on my neck, feel

the fist jumping out from the page
and hitting
me in the face. I could feel it.

I could feel a thousand wars fought
and won
on your page, in

your words. I could feel your hot
breath
pushing up against

my neck, I could feel your hands taking
my shoulders,
throwing me back in the chair.

I would look at your paper and see out the
window the
masses rising, rioting in the

streets. I can feel the tide rising from
your thoughts.
What do you possess? What

have you been through, to give you
such a gift? I
look back at the page,

and I begin to feel your hand from
under the page,
from in the desk, razor

in hand, shoving up through the fiber,
slicing at the air,
trying desperately to get to me.

And I get up from my chair, walk over
to the bathroom,
almost like memorization.

I feel nothing but the drive you felt.
In the mirror,
there are cuts on my face.



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