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 matt margo at firstname.lastname@example.org for consideration...
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
prose poem || Edward Nichols
I see further than I do, protest the fetus. Television in the womb so he's properly propagandized.Nazi flicks of the switch boarded canopy reclusion.Kurt Cobains still alive. Worms burrow holes through my brain proving I'm
already dead.Non-emotive emotional side is coming out,desperafe tears make little mud puddles on the floor.Shudder shutter the diabolical me shadowing my soul.No derision,nothing serious,it's always been with me.
Sugary respites of carnival candy dance around my head.I see further thanI do.But whats close up is so far away,Lotus flowers lotus position invites meditation.The closer I get,the farther away it goes, must be eternity.
I've spent an eternity in my head ang I want out.
Cornishes vesticles bauchianate the laruses of integrated oreckes in the clown paint of a manic mime. Ferthes proacheetes the daudles of junicles newrething the time of a clock with no hands reuthesianating the contingrncies of hammered dirt clods, mesmerizing the lizard with a metronome clicking clicking at sub atomic speeds. Inclnations ruimburse the closure of tehdoor in the roof and the windows and the windows with no glass panes. The great bottled water jug filled from a river of toxic water.
Juasinian reichian proclivities pouring the regurgitation of mankind into its city streets. Reeking of false promises and lies that pass for truth, the recountng of the money always comes out short.