texts that change the conscious parameters of literature, both for readers and writers. from a different angle than these, r.p. blackmur adds: 'poetry: [is] ...language so twisted and posed in a form that...it adds to the stock of available reality.' now that blogger has included the ability to reproduce fonts more accurately, alpha-numeric visual-poetry will be welcomed for consideration. formerly edited by peter ganick. send texts to Volodymyr Bilyk at firstname.lastname@example.org for consideration...
Sunday, June 3, 2012
haibun || Sheila E. Murphy
Lapel pins rinsed in blood form abstract playthings on the creased part of an overlay. His arms in bronze are generally capable. Now and early go distinctions between tongue and tungsten. He reads matter-of-frack questions from a clipboard. One of us will pay the gent in polyester for the right to stand beneath these awnings stretched a gel green. We stay put, practicing arpeggios the way that mother used to fake. I talk to studio audiences like you. I tell my history, and listen for skeptical minds to overflow with cryptic jabs. Stick figures puncture when we're noticing other flings. And now you may observe a flicker of our jaundiced pace, when we feign special intentions as if unisonly sprung from shared footage on these pavement squares. An officer in navy starts to point out sins, for which I answer via
gratitude by wearing white. I tell my grace notes of your grace's face fall when the usual exterior goes spliced. Now ticket-free, my record holds a place along the leaf-lined rite
Donations to the library, countess with a whisper of a name, a fresh hue to the upstart