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

Pronunciation

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

backchannel

over

she did not panic

text || Volodymyr Bilyk

1
Classification-conqueror
-
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
-
2
Saw 'Orra
Be Sauce
For the sewn nut

O
LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN
JJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ
DDDDDD
RRRRRRRRRR RRRRRRRRRR RRRRRRRRRR RRRRRRRRRR RR
ZZZZ
MMMTTT
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB
LOKOBOKO
LOOLOOBOOBOO
XXXXXXXXXX
(poem out of outline:
T
T
- h
- h
- h

TG
TQ
- how
- how
- how)

***

pome || Billy Bob Beamer

           POME

‘’use                      les;s ut[ile

 

C;[Onp                           Ge’Ali ]din s 

 

beL[Ab                          strat]ca   t i        

                    

 

a   ][                                 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

CALANDO

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

                                                (

                                                 )

                                                (

                                                 )

                                                 fall.

Aluminum wings ~ struck,

melt like wax.  A modern-day Icarian tragedy,

complete

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

                              deniability.

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.