3 pomes || billy bob beamer

STRUcTUreDRanDoM

SaMplEcaLLmeEtc

1.

long

long

i

thr

thr

mouth

 

 

find

brin

gin

ggig

ss

 

atone

l

amora

l

astreet,

 

high

 

2.

yearsor

drizzlypause

hyposhand.

 

deliberately

hats.

 

3.

window

widow

stretched

i

sd. book

 

pilefetched

 

dampspleen

 

elision^pucker

 

 

POME

able &and hope| of body

 any na[y shyne^ss article

 matwaters about it’s on

 reming less curloval of noth

forming one’s own additions

 took an edustafied cational/ sati

 the perpuse of etual Ifs the ca

manner haut further rippy &witho

 then she exposed thesawman led

along on how hap’d crease py one coul

green oh

 

educance Is conveying sotion reside

 so suppess say ten behaved ose shyn

then morn ming had the any unsatiable assa

 complimistance ents  occasional  reasonable

 advantages unpleasing has asked acceptance

 partiality alteration understood two worth

no tile at the house added  married he’s hearing

‘ dam’n it totally removal ‘remove but suffer wanted

 lively lens  moonlight two applauded conveying an

 end direction old principle but expenses  distanced

weddings percgly who ageived strones in a domestic

 

letter wooded tract does in two men

 indeed income siston up admirationer impressi

 he by partitly immediate his saw is instan ality

one day perceived as danger old blushes respect but offices

take  hearted minutes effects written parties winding off

 oh as in witted greenhout on star

 

 

IutntribexPOME

pass in the ,olhoi d e this ummforrrd after

regsshhh radiualar ch’ch uhfcrs

alkinoi^se. Nfu zte fu tz

greelute.ting abso-

denscious tis uncones. whie rerk. alm da. 

realmnew

eyesplaerworne s realsuinter homn dumerlan 

doldwowot

rohre y cour ovrtheers waes

is /walk in fr. lasa rs ela ‘tive talkin

herhinge is more breat

vee herery fee to sam wav

transre poish ‘ert of wis

be there as kunfold memories

complably goalfleeter fail so misersh 

last x x

aro ^und_th

poem || Lawrence Upton

On the recent unrest

polyvocal

a shaking balcony; some screams; rhythm mounting

the field translates thousands –

a dangerous thing to do –

something has gathered

feel it surging –

towards puffed purpose

waiting

                        and begins

that is, the children –

it is playtime –

lifeless

                        and yet

a great upheaval

years within

to sanitise

the result of status quo

struggle against global elsewhere

in the art of all transformation

structure dictating sadness

in the end

                        why business?

a narrative war between place and time

citizens practising in their desert

food arenas –

connecting the demanding –

rampant world

that affect!

leaders a constellation of who appeared

women against the illicit

to reclaim living possibilities

and accidents tracing our way

why not?

oppression at last

material of munificence

no room for concession

in touch

international free living reduced

bosses with few benefits

factories producing malnutrition

and philosophies of apparatus and torture

an escape for privileged appropriation

queuing up for prudent revolution

to invest in kleptocrats unknowingly

mechanisms of going well

an age poised

inside universal astonishment

forcibly blown away

to restore conservative waves of quietude

at times managed

exploits an article by Jack Sherker, Manchester Guardian Saturday 16 January 2016

(edited heavily with a loose ad hoc system)               

2 poems || John Pursch

Solvent Junkies

It was as simple as waking at an oddly comported hour, finding a suitable flare gun, and shooting all night at detuned ghetto tendons, missing indentured verisimilitude in oration’s storied lineal vacuum.

Even so, one out of every savory dovetailed sleep patrol would cauterize extorted swoons with lasered pinpoint straps of tippling’s exegetical numbness, piled in frozen autonomy, nominally fencing with epaulette mechanics for tendencies unknown to solvent junkies everywhere from hauled-catch miniskirts to lexical interment.

Nubian bellicosity wrapped tensile occasion grist in floating pillbox satyrs, passing sooty auditory mavens, hovering just above melting; pointed exclusionary billets daubed behind the midnight hearing’s foolishly pomaded croupiers on parole from seditious highland prayers.

A Thousand Weeks of Scenery

Children run in cowboy boots beyond empathic high school floors to hospital selection beeps and busty business sendoff screams of pardoned immunology.

Cousins swipe a Texan Mafioso in durable daylight, continuity pumping imprisoned gunslingers for leap years. Pleas denote the slackened gaze of passing pedestrian threads, shared by yesterday.

Somehow privileged wallflowers march to detuned martyr sauce, arms locked, boots alighting lachrymose and parried territorial in setting honey melt.

Fortune shilly-shallies into noontime lean of frozen facial focal length to fill a caustic factoid, hoping for songs. Blue eruption conversations bite in character for stone devotion marrow lines, feeding the exploding pen a thousand weeks of scenery.

poem || Brandon Theis

Would Care66

Whittledman churned up the valleys of frozen corpses, pitchforks skewed harshly into spines, reburied and once freed, forgotten civil warrants of the matter sworn. For never ago, the born stand up, sleep in the air, breathing and beating wings, a flutter instance, captive, shattered. Evolved on pollutant crisps, snorting the essence of a patched saint lust, crushed crusties panting progressive passion parades, form mounts, painless dissolved, a kindred swooning.

One thousand bricked captives hover ethereal, tourniquet etiquette, pedals of the reaping harmonic: wrath of the warrior's charter, clingy ships sailing over timeless envelope habitat. Frequency chamber chattering on and on in patterns, ever so compulsorily. Pulses happen and pauses cause the love of loss that oft doth trout doubt, grief, river, sleep, traffic.

Common clause causality conquers casual waif station placation, hump swamping to trudge lumpy grout fixation: fountains of gore tridents spout steak speakers, loud pride violence filaments bubble a pickled kind of kindness.

Whittledman climbs the craft, warbles some immutable peach compassion, blinds the death gambler, finds bones in the trite and fumbled batch router. The time crimes go all eschew, sidelined by the power class, crass and disturbed, ever after laughter, emotive stutter clutter, a status gone adrift, he spoons the earthbound battleship sanctions.

poem || Lawrence Upton

A tyrant speaks

nothing is careless

availability the centre

it occurred to drift

shift in overlap

though it may not otherwise

allow you to go

to produce something exposes

its self

without arrangement

i am interested still

after all this time

next year earliest

i am imagining you

but maybe that blocks your availability

the visual etc would be possible

the beauty of the past in the present

my only thing

i might just encourage people

to use words

contain inclusion

the centres of writing

crossing into words

clarity exposes somewhere

me one of words

all of the surroundings

so irritated by boundaries

one point now beginning

not reproducible

i am fairly happy with all without changing

the moment without preparation

the voices brief

doing extended

the remains of an artist doing there

the original i imagine

now of negation

language i am thinking

photos working musically

how close are we

texts claustrophobic

concealment

pull in the present

2 poems || Joe Milford

TATTERED SCROLLS AND POSTULATES 12.

giant plastic tub of beef jerky on the counter as cashier talks about seeing Tom Petty live once.

burning sage over the burned down house seemed strange to me but she said it must need be.

in the closet, old ruddy bespeckled arms began to extend from the sleeves of shirts and jackets.

between two powerlines on the left side of the road the huge spiderwebs proudly glistened.

i could kill someone with innocence and i could introduce violence. this is how fruits ripen.

deprive everything of oxygen. watch the world panic. deprive everything of Christmas lights.

i inherited Lucregia Borgia. shot it until the muzzle melted and destroyed a national treasure.

evil squaw of a neighbor called animal control on us. we adorned the bottle tree for protection.

in the woods behind the homestead the mound of the old railroad wound like a serpent-god.

the bleached dog's skull rests atop the occult text on the black poetry bookshelf, a black tower.

TATTERED SCROLLS AND POSTULATES 14.

i was full of ergophobia whittling mermaids from cedar and balsa on a porch amidst the cosmos.

we lost the leavining, sold out the reckoning; we wished for prudence and gave away to sea salt.

i have found that writing in the morning makes the herb garden flourish. i have found salience.

most of the evil of this place was the fact it was once an ocean. appalachian chains underwater.

landlord calls from his deerstand to check in. the heating unit died. saw my breath in the kitchen.

telemetry made this possible. shrooms made this possible. skunk brew made this possible. alms.

all you had to know about murder was that the wedding ring was found atop the compost heap.

red Georgia clay like the flesh of the earth asking me to make men and women from it. O glory.

my grandpa called them laundry bags. his parachutes over Germany with artillery. good man.

they found something unspeakable in a cave near my home. the government showed up. damn.

poem || John Pursch

Rockaway Farragut

Morning in another timeline, pasting columnar antipodes to bubble-gripped stellar interiors to hefty laudanum impact creator stereoscopes, producing sad effects on plight bowlers, sifting timed travelers for pocketed loose-leaf change contraption pastimes, chugging troubled sex-pack abs of deeper filling tooth compunction in mistaken roulette pecan philanderer to neuroscience glow regard, aboard encephalic arrogation pitcher wag refusal peat to streamlined slipper instep health to smiling mantle majesty of purity in alienated brood of ingot bread line winnowing to chafed appellate choir, sagging dryly on effulgent cocktail scrounger croon to cobbled elfin troubadour of doorstop tower locomotion.

Crowned the Queeg of Music Equine Pachyderm Equation Quake, she peels another slayer freely felt in pool hull itch petard ahoy carousal cry of “Hands low to chest-band self-projection carrying kitsch of blown parietal emancipation creed,” done to pallor-proven poop tick policies by spinning lunar core dapples of traceries of angle buckets filled to brimstone poplar britches, brewing gowned homeostatic phone papyrus welts in dime store favorite dosage quartz of Rockaway Farragut Cations of Ninety Novitiate Newsstand Promos, snapped every hour on the pouring grain’s flowering yeast in seaboard flecks of carbine haste or chaste recusal paraffin to stolid proxy orca krill.

“Bark at foggy bantamweights slowly, bilious believer,” bricks the balustrade of Beluga Bulova Bollocks, bolted serenely to bulkhead baseboard bread casket shingles of icy power movements in erstwhile mentality to inguinal repair.

Sutures glom and cavitate in surface tension stencil bait, forking fools for every utter bear of polar chord or dinette bladder folio when spliced reactive nougat thoughts emerge to challenge irreligious bonsai swords to scrape away patina healing.

Crime plies wan and dirty gray down sweaty shirtsleeve indoor arctic druggist storyteller cone to molded collocation grip, quizzing classical conductors in stupefied oration gauge of hovering clover.

3 poems || Felino A. Soriano

Necessary 

My physiognomy is forced.  I cannot control

each emblem within the wrinkles

wearing age and the subsequent denial

of why they began to deepen.  Nothing

develops without patina’s eventual

lather.  To be here is to resemble a

throat of deciphering apian.  To read

my face is to unfasten the sentence

into run-on justification.

What’s remaining here

A surname of constellation.  A

reviewed persona, ungraded.  A re

-used permission to appreciate

rhythm.  A wind of soft percussion.

A voice fractioned and finding hatched

syntax.   

A tomorrow monopoly

The coded language sparking insomnia. A vertical

hold on the throat and lauded figment.  The

bridge my breath sways and sustains.  A flattened

rhythm, faint and beyond.  The permission to

engage and abscond in scream.  A flail.  The

fixation.  A physical submerge of indefinite decision.