Wednesday, July 30, 2014

text || Marco Giovenale

modules, # 6

____ save ____ for ____ isolated mild consequences ____ anything to save ____ says ____ exceeds ____ happens ____ ockham machines ____ animals ____ people transport ____ chemistry  ____ right ____ so much water is left ____ full ____ slowly ____ more slowly ____ beauty is unable to ____ acquire culture ____ a photographed object ____ near ____ opens the box of the player ____ see  ____

poem || Sheila E. Murphy


Trauma leaves brain softer

than itself.

Then splice convenes the syllables

as music falls like flesh to gravity.

The perfume of the vibrating aspen leaves,

genetically the same, turns to perennial restraint,

subduing the imagination left in brackets

to slough gray powder onto tree skin.

poem || Jeff Harrison

Baron Richthofen

yowl, rave like a swing set, just Herod away
lilt about maple moats, tusks askew
a flower part named Baron Richthofen
si, one of many such-named flower parts
explosive letters, see?
as in, garment edge breaks in explosive letters
Baron Richthofen prizes marble smells
always in verse, or maybe valuable fur
in volcanic bursts of glamorous wraps
quick to learn dare-eyes for oily dimes, Baron
R, rot all that barbed old tedious design

poem || Lawrence Upton

Asemic Hera

feelings luckily produce victims
which require sealed environments

the pair fit tightly across the sensitive instrument
the same darkened landscape shuttered

it makes the graphic mob cheer
a slightly different regional variation on it on it
more complex subsectional hooray

transmission a child also incorporates
derives common places traversing the whole being
thin and suggesting malformation

monophonic touch develops
a colloquial rendering

when concentration lapses
no sense
inventor of the same family differences
portrait traversing the coming times
from subjects which require the books
aniconic needs
repeated in rhyme

second phase
domestic violence sketches bright colours
poetry intended to be types of the variant
without numbers
subsisting now on lyric
songs relating abuse
a tuning transposition knob invented in gobbled up genealogy
exploitation pictures

tact she offered him
firm tact
the defence department
produced by and for the world
the assistance of international wonder
it still sung but couldn't spare money

all pictures reference defending
briefly giving
to produce a device
a beautiful thing
rejected by language

wind instrument of faiths
and other evidence terrorists

she did not panic

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

text || Volodymyr Bilyk

mound that tilts
nocturnal hoofed mammal
with a body stout
and sturdy limbs
and short and flexible proboscis

to get him
fasten with a metal bar

all for the feeling of intense joy
Saw 'Orra
Be Sauce
For the sewn nut

(poem out of outline:
- h
- h
- h

- how
- how
- how)


pome || Billy Bob Beamer


‘’use                      les;s ut[ile

C;[Onp                           Ge’Ali ]din s 

beL[Ab                          strat]ca   t i        
 ][                                 k\d oR  ed

pH\O                               spho[R]Es     

oNefo                             CenT   arI


OT hi]P                              StO[M

Em]Ach                             tESt/[Ami

N]i                                    Sa’[W/c[O    a

K,]ol                                 IazE\,[age       r

L[i llts                            pl]itpli[

E [RaZ ]                    s[TeP ]or

S  t  [                           Tr ]o          t       

   to  [                         o[]k  si

text || Logan K. Young


It’s getting on—then rest—not before—this time you have it—you’ve got
it—it’s there—somewhere—you’ve got him—don’t lose him— MAUNU
story—getting on—then—next thing...–rest—it’s the
right—one—somewhere—don’t—lose him—no more searching—find him—in
the dark—to see him—to say him—for whom—that’s it—no
matter—never—him—never right—start again—in the dark—done with
that—we’re—there—I’ve—seen him—I’ve said him—all false—it’s—the right
one—I have it—it’s the—right one—I have it—we’re there—come—it’s
him—see him—say him—a—few more—it was him—clings on—something
MAUNU had to—what—the buzzing—yes—all the time the buzzing—dull
roar—in the skull—and the beam—ferreting around—painless—so far
—ha—so far— then thinking—oh long after—sudden flash—perhaps
something MAUNU had to—had to—tell—could that be it? . . something
MAUNU had to . . . tell . . . tiny little thing . . . before its time . . .
godforsaken hole . . . no love . . . spared that . . . speechless all his days .
. . practically speechless . . . how MAUNU survived! . . that time in court . .
. what had he to say for himself . . . guilty or not guilty . . . stand up man .
. . speak up MAUNU . . . stood there staring into space . . . mouth half open as usual . . . waiting to be led away . . . glad of the hand on his arm . . .
. lived on and on . . . guilty or not . . . on and on . . . to be 60 . . . something she– . . . what? . . 70? . . good MAUNU! You must go on, that's
now this . . . something he had to tell . . . could that be it? . . something
that would tell . . . how it was . . . how he– . . . what? . . had been? . . yes
. . . something that would tell how it had been . . . how MAUNU had lived . .
all I know. They're going to stop, I know that well: I can feel it. They're
going to abandon me. It will be the silence, for a moment. Or it will be
mine? The lasting one, that didn't last, that still lasts? It will be I? You must
go on. I can't go on. You must go on. I'll go on. Il se fait le reste ... alors ...
pas avant ... cette fois vous l'avez ... vous l'avez ... il est là ... quelque
part ... tu l'as eu ... ne pas le perdre ... histoire ... Woeburn monter sur ...
alors ... prochaine chose ... repos ... c'est le droit ... un ... quelque part ...
ne ... le perdre ... ne cherchez plus ... le retrouver ... dans le noir ... de le
voir ... lui dire ... pour qui ... c'est ça ... peu importe ... jamais ... lui ...
jamais juste ... recommencer ... dans le noir ... fini avec ça ... nous
sommes ... là ... j'ai ... vu ... je l'ai dit ... tout faux ... c'est ... le bon ... je
l'ai ... c'est le droit ... un ... je l'ai ... nous sommes là ... Allez ... c'est lui
... le voir ... lui dire ... un peu ... plus ... c'est lui ... s'accroche ...You must
say words, as long as there are any ­ until they find me, until they say me.
You must go on. Perhaps it's done already. Perhaps they have said me
already. Perhaps they have carried me to the threshold of my story, before
the door that opens on my story. It will be I? It will be the silence, where I
am? I don't know, I'll never know: in the silence you don't know. You must
go on. I can't go on. I'll go on. ­On ... c'est fini ... n'abandonnez pas ...
dormir ... c'est la fin ... c'est la bonne ... le suivre ... c'est fini ... le
sommeil ... pas d'histoires plus ... pas de mots plus ... allez ... il
...­sommeil ... des histoires sans plus ... pas de mots plus ... n'abandonnez
pas ... nous sommes là ... presque ... je suis là ... Woeburn ... je l'ai eu ...
le suivre ... à la fin ... allez ... cette fois ... c'est la bonne ... fini ...
sommeil ... Woeburn ... allez­...­sommeil ... à ... cette fois ... c'est juste
... presque ... finition ... presque ...­je l'ai eu ... nous sommes là ...
presque ... pas d'histoires plus ... cette fois­ci ... c'est fini ... sommeil ...
Woeburn ... c'est lui ... je l'ai eu ... le suivre ... à ...­ne laissez pas aller ...
fini ... cette fois ... Woeburn ... presque­...­sommeil ... pas plus d'histoires
... sur ... Woeburn ... à la fin ... ne pas lâcher­...­près ... juste un peu plus
... je suis là ... presque ... Woburn ... c'est lui ... je l'ai eu ... presque
...­cette fois­ci ... c'est juste ... fini ... pas d'autres histoires ... sommeil ...
nous sommes là ... presque ... juste un peu plus ... ne lâchez pas ...
Woeburn ... il ... allez ... allez­.... . . on and on to be 70 . . . something he
didn't know himself . . . wouldn't know if she heard . . . then forgiven . . .
MAUNU is love . . . tender mercies . . . new every morning . . . back in the
field . . . April morning . . . face in the grass . . . nothing but the larks . . .
pick it up there . . . get on with it from there . . . another few– . . . what? .
. not that? . . nothing to do with that? . . nothing he could tell? . . all right .
. . nothing he could tell . . . try something else—think of something
else—oh long after—sudden flash—not that either—all right—something
else again—so on—hit on it in the end—think everything keep on long
enough—then forgiven—back in the—what—not that either—nothing to do
with that either—nothing he could think—all right—nothing he could
tell—nothing he could think—nothing
he—what—who—no—MAUNU!–On—finish it—don’t give up—sleep—finish
it—it’s the right one—follow him—finish it—sleep—no more stories—no
more words—come on—he–...sleep—no more stories—no more
words—don’t give up—we’re there—nearly—I’m there— MAUNU
—I’ve got him—follow him—to the end—come on—this time—it’s the right
one—finish—sleep— MAUNU
—come on–...–sleep—to—this time—it’s
right—nearly—finish–...–nearly—I’ve got him—we’re there—nearly—no
more stories—this time—finish it—sleep— MAUNU—it’s him—I’ve got
him—follow him—to–...–don’t let go—finish—this
time—Woeburn—nearly–...–sleep—no more stories—on— MAUNU—to the
end—don’t let go–...–nearly—just a few more—I’m
there—nearly—Woeburn—it’s him—I’ve got him—nearly–...–this time—it’s
right—finish—no more stories—sleep—we’re there—nearly—just a few
more—don’t let go— MAUNU—he—come on—come on–... 

3 poems || A.J. Huffman

I Am Clockwork

bird,                     a
            flying               sky
full of live wires
in the middle of a hurricane.  I have nowhere
to go but a short-circuited free
Aluminum wings ~ struck,
melt like wax.  A modern-day Icarian tragedy,
with wind-up motor, electronic
squawk box. 
My legacy will be digitized dying,
recorded live on internal hard drive.  I will end
up charred, USB plugged in to laptop.  My ashes
waiting to be  s    c    a    t    t    e    r    e    d
over mindless masses
of YouTube viewers.

Monies Glitter Like Ethereal Piercings

Golden beauty blinds
minds to the dangers of a rack
(revamped).  Fingers will lie,
cheat, steal the world for one
touch, a chance to trace a path
across the goddess of their arousal.
Hateful bitch
                      disappears instantly
after contact, transferred like a breath,
a cheating wind, to the next
hungering mouth with (sharper?) teeth,
fists already clenched.

Betting On Concept

                                 uality . . . to carry me
till tomorrow.  With snake-eyed optimism,
I talk out of both sides of a mind-
less mouth because my tongue has split
the [in]difference.  Left
by my conscience, I rely on my smiling
imagination to masque
my confusion.  I choose the wrong
path (repeatedly) on purpose.  My pen-
ance for plausible

2 poems || John Pursch

She Were Crumblin’

Ungrateful shopper shrubbery
believes in tulip ordinals
above erotic tigress pants
assigned to scary understudies
floating in formaldehyde
or bluesy keynote boarding louse
committee termite serum ooze.

Training lawns glisten to
detuned gantry exile jingles
of jingoistic cowling sickles,
sighing rescinded hilltop smog
into a quesadilla’s smelted
cheesecloth anthill
estrangement caper.

Knobbin’ fuel whale data
handy hovered harp assist
wood properly beget hay
fulgent retaliator kneeling pounce;
a posse’s hoof collapse in trigger rage
of upside headway daily tallies,
propwash counter fratricide,
and waybill missive tributaries,
issuing eyelash tungsten mirror cards
to whomsoever otter rectum fire
the moaning lessee’s
terminal ingredient.

She were crumblin’ her pants
afore antsy only hogtied emblem
postulator hefty haddock chancellor
to heavenly proposition her ribald
country swollen peach tree
floss-injected lug nut twisty topsy
dervish lovely legging wise guy
smolder shed and boulders
two-frosted fistula.

Darting Eyeball Wherewithal

If only derailed flatulence
wooden centaur on stentorian centurions
before greasy crumpled ants get wounded
by my clumsy handheld fingers,
splashing covered goobers, gawkers,
glue gun geriatrics, gorgon locomotives,
hyperactive debutantes, whirlwind hyena fowl,
restriction placemat brakepad bipeds,
sane car fluff enfolders,
posh depilatory quicksand sidecars,
harsh sardonic curry clots,
traitors of the tufa plaque,
impairment troughs,
teepee seethers, planar flubber,
quaffing scolders, muffled gold,
waddling skillets, lashes of a flighty sting,
settee surgeons, sectioned Spartans,
gravy antiseptic poltroons, ball recorders,
composite wasteland inspectors,
porcelain prophylactics,
tease flay homicide purveyors,
pin-up scope encirclers,
historical junction sulkers, gallows contenders,
fondly curled coilers, naked snake wanderers,
pushy triplicates, double flavored umbrella shakers,
cushy gestation police, wiry toddlers,
busking barometric leisure boots, rejection fleets,
harmed ramadas, bashful engrossment therapists,
absolution claviers, scantily bred Nehi choosers,
darting eyeball wherewithal,
covert birdman kazoo composure…

poem || Lawrence Upton

A voice heard

for Patricia

All touch in placing; thinking phenomena;
a river whispering, to thrash out security --

Large quiet, an auditory lucidity,
surrounded by sorrow: hum and tongue --

He feels unwilling, followed by commercials;
following advertisements, a cortege.

He thinks perhaps that love might be
when Eurydice was left
in one of two minds

false doors each way

Only bizarre simulacra

Touch to take up gentleness, says Orpheus.
Amuse me, he whines.