Saturday, May 8, 2021

Tiana Lavrova Porter - Seashell of butterflies

Tiana Lavrova Porter is a 21 year old Canadian Surrealist poet and co-inventor and philosopher. She hopes to live soon again in Northern Canada, and can be reached at

Seashell of butterflies

Abstractified collageified Shalelings of Micronesial seashell of butterflies Dukes Arcimbodilst flagonified Kabbalhism 'patamathematicalism Immortalist androids spermatozoaizing the hawkeyelingized Salamanderized Ornithos Canadiana Looning Shalewood Immortalist Dracula Rock 'N Shale by Immaterialist Ice cream Genghis Khan Lichen Marsupialized anti-Necessaryhoodesence, anti-Essentialismesence vortexing crab-foot perambulating synagogues mosques of 'pata-Surrealistic democratical Bells 'n Chimes of Segovian septupled Zuzunagas dragonetted lugubrious swordfished Omnikindal biceps of Mindscape myopic sand-dollarical molars of Malador mandibilizing the cinematographical blossoming 'patanarchical-communist decidua electromagnetical violent volcano vortexical Andromedical brooms of molten Simulacra hermaphroditical Omniscaping Fennel of Crust cheesecakeling Ibexified Yarnified Silverback yolk in the Schizopathogenesis sarcophagus rib-cages of kestrel cranberry vulcanized Sierraosophical Ornithos autochthonous perambulating Lichens ravenous Herbivoreanoia anti-Immaterialist Processosophical Mindscapic Tentagrams Tentagramical Wisteriaical transcendentalist Womberical synagogues mosques are Taliswomxned into the incense the perfume monochromatical Motherine sluiced honeycomb of vortex Dimensionalized parietal lobes the anti-neochromatical sockeyeling of Dimensionalized tantric tathagata huskerines wheatgrasslings cheesecaked into the Stanley park of mystagogical transcendentalist phallen magenta lilacs coconuts half staff into the cavalry of scalloped Dreamscapic teepee telomereicized in antiphysicalist orioledoms breasts of Lusteous embalms of 'pataarchitectured Zoodoms 'patarchitectural anti-Spiritualist yogurt camels drizzling into the diagonalized transinfinite matryoshka sandals of cavalryied Eiffel garrets turrets with Saturine mealwormlings Shambalas Shabadoos of the Anaximanderian Transinfinite gargoyled aromatherapeutical 'pata-Feverdoms yarned into the Dracula's, the Grebes, the Gossamer's Lichenified Lepper teepeeified pterodactyls of Coca-Cola cheesecakes Navajoan preterrestrial Kosmogenesisified siderealed lavenderous baked thighs, rib-cages of Omniverseospherical intratemporal-lobeized intra-Omnisphereical samurai the red wine glassified by Geniificational tundratical sapphires of Omnisphereogonical Immaculate pre-pre-Conceptional dewlingdoms sparrowified moduleized substratum brachiosaurus galloping like the gullies Oarificational post-Futurological tambourines of Herstrionical onions turnips Leprechauned Methusealean Post-Post-Rationalism rocketing into the Prima Vera's of teepee'd antirealist Omnispherical Tetragrammaton thrust into the pre-autism salt and peppers shaker Dendro-Chronos Terraphile hatchlings of mandraked Osirisical derricks Yahweh's Serpentine charmerified nimbus pumpkin orbiting Dracula's of Shiva Para-pre-sempiternal Swanneryes para-Kosmical preeclampsials of Marsupiual sonoluminescence zygoteified by olivarium hyperphagicized Pelicans pulley Omnitemporal Zambonis the Prepresempiternalitudesence post-post-human Sphereogons honeybeeifying honeycombs of chamomiled motels of Okapi thrashes sockeyelings into the cinematographical Luxorian scales of 'pata-Senseological precipiced Mt. Robson's of Shamballa

Saturday, May 1, 2021

Paul Ilechko - 3 POEMS

1. Quadrangle

I will use the word “quadrangle” 
          (for lack of a better word) 
          to describe the {era of not time} that was before 
          time     as we now know it           existed

before      “universe”       as we now know it existed 

as in “the quadrangle before our time existed”      
          when time (as it was then)
          was not the same thing as time is now 
          running straight and clean 🡪      in one direction 

when time was conceptual 
          and multi-dimensional      thick 
                                        with “color” and “shape”

(or analogies to what we now know as 
                                       “color” and “shape” 

when      “life”      was not the same 
as      life      as we know it now      
          but rather      >>> was energy 
          that spread itself across and around 
                    the thickness of time (as it was then) 
breathing in the color and shape of it

before “life” made a line through time 🡪  
      the result   perhaps   merely of an experiment

but the line became time 
                         and the thickness was reduced 
                                             and color and shape rendered 
down to an infinity of single-mindedness 

and the collapse of that weight 
           of      {then time}      devastated the quadrangle 

and this universe was created 

narrowly clinging to the thin line of eventfulness

2. A Time of Spin

Theory field of medium states
                      of attention states

of assumption of rotation
as decline of spin
                   through attraction

(by reduction as impermanence
      {as to not being there}
      at the time of spinning)

“everything is magnets”

theory field of magnetic states
             as spin precludes
             through fast rotation
as a state of redaction

removal of concept
                as information precludes
                of excessive knowledge
                via false rotation
and assumption of particles

vitality lacking passion 
             where windows are edged
             in blindness of light
             inspired by rotation

reduced by redaction
                as knowledge is spin. 

3. And Then He Broke Down

Fragments are taken     splinters of reclamation     as we accentuate the tragic 

the ripeness of an open throat is shown as evidence     wide and flat below the lankness of his dirty hair     

for this has become a time of misunderstanding

for what we see now     is that all is defiance     in the face of punishment     all is defiance     in the face of the endgame     the shutdown     the closing

listening quietly as the voices swell in unison     as a ball is tossed from a dugout     and teammates hide inside a false camaraderie 

watch closely his strength as he peels away     a roaring of blood     a flash of elbow     a tearing and blistering     the distant smoke above the darkness of the city.

Saturday, April 24, 2021

John Thomas Allen - 3 POEMS

 1. Medusa In Abstract

These laughing gas hoses and permed fields of razored yellow, the sun whistling in cold and the thousand painters it takes to stain a pure piece of guillotine glass driven in the whistling, coiled silver of her coal eyes. The cracks on her face will canvas an oil abstract and when removed reveal at the compartments of a rubix cube, the compartments glass, colorless and not plastic, the eyes crossing in atom spills, rooms of candelabras burning in a hushed vertigo, the curtains spinning ministries of nature’s paneled WELCOME signs, occult sigils, the mice in drizzling gazebos, a sideshow in the spectacle of each indigo ring. A hush is heard in constancy over the eye, which is a firefly breaking in perpetuity like a mood ring, or the smeared egg yolk abstract in a midnight carnival’s interior castle, that hush in torn tiremarks, the nude and skinned eyes crossing in perpetuity, the dilated rooms of fantasia, the seaweed strangler, the heads turning in barrels filled with founts.


2. A Yellow Man Clapping In Traffic

The King’s ministry is a traveling star,
irradiate with warrior alien mail coats
Hidden histories, black verse and hymns
one knows better to throw
to the fire and roast.

And the only refrain is a laughing murmur,
and a yellow man clapping in traffic.

Subterranean dynasties,
thing against thing
the King devouring his foes

stripped and heaving
by quivering candelabra,
pulsing in eldritch shadows.

Screams rife with the choral ring
of small mouths praising Carcosa,
a thing falls in slow tumble
toward an evil star.

Sated on the oasis
of a flaming gallows,
Cassilda dances on
jackpins, the Queen Jester peels shadow
from her eyes, following syphilitic
village kings who loose
their own progeny
toward His vanguards,
hoping for strange miracles.

And the only refrain is a murmur,
and a yellow man directing traffic.
These each Carcosa’s orphaned lot,
roaming as blinded lambs
misled by each, his drifting mage.

These each these starry eyed
These cross legged grinning
yellow mages playing dice
with flaming genomes,
holding Hastur’s seal
making his young so mad,
feeding them to the shade.


3. No. 17251

The REM mirror's 
bent tubes synthesized
in snake pegs 
of archipelagic
ice hieroglyphs;

(hear the eglantine washerwomen
call breakfast with gold spoons)

the hierophant C-flat 
spilt in a tide pod 
rainbow suit worn
in a night Mass’ oval paucity.

A date unrealized
and of silt gravity, 
split on all sides 
by holofoil wings 
of indigo aeons,

(hear the eglantine washerwomen
call breakfast with gold spoons)

where a shadow caches 
spectral amber 
and unseal frog eyes
hanging as cragged 
dropsy jewels
in memoriam,
insect moot eyes

spilling a fog mass, lit
in small wings

burning sigils flown
in SILK embossed flags
by codex seraphics 
aflame in cellular

peeling a yellow horizon

of flypaper 


 domino flanked spiders,

dialing up light in the 
glass toothed eyes 
of the loved dead

torn cellophane angels 
unfurling false teeth,
the shattering 

 Chinese christabel

hexes, the table 
having a rorschach 
spill, weeping figures 
traced through in baby
blue on pinched borders,

on the melodic scuttle of uranium

the smear of

         beatified lipstick,


(here the washerwomen
stitch a message home
in the flags of plexiglass
rising from the tinfoil
king's severed wing);

humming the coral 
ministries of death's
lexical glossalia.