tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45929185466777720732024-03-05T21:20:17.531-08:00The BalloonA blogjournal of new poetry and poetics.Connor Stratmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063932999148229286noreply@blogger.comBlogger36125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4592918546677772073.post-26392794418661757702012-04-10T06:21:00.000-07:002012-04-10T06:21:17.987-07:004 poems by John Donovan<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Kenefic<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">The rolled up hills of<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">middle Oklahoma - <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">satellite dishes burned<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">at the stake -<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Christina threw our<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">blankets into<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Coal Creek while I<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">folded flowers<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">on an ancient lake<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">bed. We were<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">short women wearing<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">capes and<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">face paint - practicing<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">sleep walking.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">A dozen white and<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">black cows<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">avalanched some twenty<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">acres away.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
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</o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Acmosara <o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">In 1997 she was made<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">bishop and her father<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">(a manufacturer of steel<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">billboards) put out a<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">rat trap.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p><br />
</o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Brahman takes a stroll<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">to the zoo to see when the bears - maps<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">in twists of fur - light knuckles for the<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">masses - bald science's fair instinct being <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">fished and God is looking - on exit from a<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">forty something - slipping into this mannish<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">smirk of bronze discretion - would ache.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Knows<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">"budding fee"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">"eel zen"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">"eating tune"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">"Night Ass"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">"ice tans"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">"dent tide"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">"ray-Net"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">"tree bust"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">"D nose"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">"bay breeze"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">"god Noose"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">"clove spurned"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">"lay tally"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">"ivy seamer"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">"rip-sins"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">"sand herb"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">"owes hat"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">"fowl Lent"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">"rum, Hercules"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p><br />
</o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6LbLbrqwiVl-mkErj1ryNAsogWftgOwyqlh7q40c1rHnPVeh-pFQf8OHjG5sk9ukB6iL-L8ZJgyNsX66lPfPoGygIXzaEApoa-AIBudTTJrTgszLJZVdi7nDm6RgRwO3qJ5vqBDFmyxBp/s1600/Ventana.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6LbLbrqwiVl-mkErj1ryNAsogWftgOwyqlh7q40c1rHnPVeh-pFQf8OHjG5sk9ukB6iL-L8ZJgyNsX66lPfPoGygIXzaEApoa-AIBudTTJrTgszLJZVdi7nDm6RgRwO3qJ5vqBDFmyxBp/s200/Ventana.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p><br />
</o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">John Donovan</span></i></b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"> is a musician who writes, records, and releases music from his bedroom.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1f1f1f; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Between songs he writes poems and makes art. John grew up in Dallas, TX and lives in St. Louis, MO. His music can be heard at http://music.johndonovanmusic.com/ <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><!--EndFragment-->Connor Stratmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063932999148229286noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4592918546677772073.post-55634487554840567322012-04-05T13:17:00.000-07:002012-04-21T10:48:13.420-07:005 poems by Larry Sawyer<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Palatino;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Palatino;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px; font-weight: 800;">
</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Palatino;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13pt;">BUT MOST BEAUTIFUL OF ALL<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Palatino;"><br /></span></div>
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<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;">
<span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 12pt;">the browning edges of the photograph are the
outskirts of a map, in which<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 12pt;">may be found the beasts and drooping trees living
green in the memory<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;">
<span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 12pt;">and we inhabit those regions, completely forgotten
until once again<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 12pt;">we glance into that other world and return to that
day that<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;">
<span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 12pt;">haunts us at the edge of a table, which pretends to
go unnoticed<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;">
<span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 12pt;">but now we are aware, and this awareness is an
elevator that<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 12pt;">carries us upward in our minds<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;">
<span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 12pt;">what we resemble most upon realizing these invented
scents<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 12pt;">at the cliff’s edge is that a photograph is a
scalpel<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 12pt;">performing the most delicate operation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</span><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">GLOTTAL DIAMOND<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">At the core of couches<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">your white radish thought alive with plentiful<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">owls. In the flaming crotch<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">of chance<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">the hot kinetic speech monkey<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">newly fused and erotic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">yes, you heard right<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">chews the winged ethical conundrum<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">called alive<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">You’ve tormented<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">seizures, doused<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">confusion,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">especially, with<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">paradisal poems<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">Not scrying, or sitting in<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">a sound bath, listening to the magnetic plumage’s<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">stony ligature<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">sucking an incandescent virginity<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">you failed our czarist tarantula<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">protested invalidated simulations<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">electronic kitten pots<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">buried hyperactive bonfires<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">and so we wait.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">BEE MACHINE<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">machine for making disdain<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">machine for making love<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">machine for making meadow grass<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">machine for making gardens<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">machine for making rock<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">machine for making music<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">machine for making bees<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">machine for making obviousness<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">machine for making night<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">machine for making god<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">machine for making excavations<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">machine for making judgment<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">machine for making Chicken Kiev<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">machine for making distances<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">machine for making pink<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">machine for making sleep<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">machine for making dreams<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">machine for making light.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">SLEEPING WITH HISTORY<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">I have given up sleep and now<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">continuously walk waking up<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">keeping me awake these tired lines<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">which prop my gargantuan eyes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">Once a woman called to me<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">sleep, sleep, but I said unequivocally<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">I must witness the whole of life this waking<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">dream, after she ignored me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">BLOWTORCH<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">contradictions of<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">frozen strawberries here<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">walking along Michigan avenue<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">which moves like a Mozart sonata<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">not No. 16 in C major too familiar<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">for this rarity of<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">December air<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">its frosty fidelity as I think about<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">putting a suit and tie<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">on my loneliness and going out<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">but stay inside with<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">a cup of yesterday's razor sharp worries but now<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">I'm walking again and nothing<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">seems transcendent it all seems dull<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">but I remember now, too this reification<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">while walking through this<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">poem that now has such tired eyes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">I'm hungry for comfort.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">Apollinaire wrote of the gamy <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">meatballs<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">of memory, and I think of Chicago's lost coyotes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">and listen to frozen<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">bells sparkling through the streets mothering<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">my shivering words<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">shouting at posterity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjih_bwUKPHx_aYxtq2RzMqZpjnIW6Rk8spvehyphenhypheny3mZXaGBt6PCC6MkOt00CUF3bppcIUzLREu8ckvOdAXiuP2YWLHL0cuNXslbE5lLyn4Ge-t77033eb0SoF2xZ_npcSi4qG9o86FPaaKE/s1600/Sawyer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjih_bwUKPHx_aYxtq2RzMqZpjnIW6Rk8spvehyphenhypheny3mZXaGBt6PCC6MkOt00CUF3bppcIUzLREu8ckvOdAXiuP2YWLHL0cuNXslbE5lLyn4Ge-t77033eb0SoF2xZ_npcSi4qG9o86FPaaKE/s200/Sawyer.jpg" width="200" /></a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">Larry Sawyer/</span></i></b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;"> poetry and literary reviews have appeared in publications including </span></i><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">Action Yes<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, </i>The Argotist<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> (UK), </i>The Chicago Tribune<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, </i>Coconut<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, </i>Court Green<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, </i>Esqu<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">e, </i>Exquisite Corpse, Hunger, Jacket<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> (Australia), </i>The Miami Sun Post<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, </i>MiPoesias, The National Poetry Review, Outlaw<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> (UK), </i>The Prague Literary Review<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> (Czech Republic</i>), Rain Taxi, Shampoo, Skanky Possum, Tabacari<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">a (Portugal), </i>Van Gogh's Ear<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> (France), </i>Vanitas, VLAK<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> (Czech Republic), Ygdrasil, and elsewhere. His work appeared in </i>The City Visible: Chicago Poetry for<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>the New Century<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> (anthology, Cracked Slab Books, 2007). Convulsive Editions will soon publish a poem as a broadside with visual art by Allyssa Wolf. He’s curated the Myopic Books Poetry Reading Series in Wicker Park, Chicago since 2005, and has hosted readings there nearly every weekend that have included poets such as Eileen Myles, Ron Silliman, Cole Swensen, and Bernadette Mayer, as well as many Chicago-area poets. His debut collection, </i>Unable to Fully California<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> (cover art by Krista Franklin), is available on Otoliths Press (Australia). An ebook, </i>Werewolf Weather<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> (cover art by Gary Sullivan), recently appeared as an Argotist ebook. Sawyer also edits </i>milk magazine<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> (since 1998) with Lina ramona Vitkauskas and has published work by a wide variety of international poets and artists including Charles Bernstein, Jerome Rothenberg, Bill Berkson, Pierre Joris, and Wanda Coleman. Larry coordinated an online installation of the work of Japanese surrealist Yamamoto Kansuke for </i>milk<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">: the only online magazine granted permission to do so by the artist’s estate. Larry has read his work at venues such as the BONK! Reading and Performance Series in Racine, Wisconsin; the Chicago Printer's Row Lit Fest; Columbia College Chicago; The Hideout in Chicago; Myopic Books in Chicago; The Poetry Center of Chicago; Quimby's Bookstore in Chicago; The School of the Art Institute of Chicago; and Woodland Pattern Book Center in Milwaukee.</i></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Palatino;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>Connor Stratmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063932999148229286noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4592918546677772073.post-19695303836837319232012-03-25T18:14:00.001-07:002012-03-25T18:16:03.166-07:002 poems by Garrett Johnson<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: 13px;"><b style="font-weight: bold; line-height: 17px;">Of the Generational Sort</b><br style="line-height: 17px;" /><br style="line-height: 17px;" />i was young and thought<br style="line-height: 17px;" />i could keep an ideal in my slippers,<br style="line-height: 17px;" />thought the oars were patterned<br style="line-height: 17px;" />in the maze with catered semblances.<br style="line-height: 17px;" /><br style="line-height: 17px;" />i watch as people undertake the same thing i tried,<br style="line-height: 17px;" />weaving and sailing, and without a doubt the lovely crane<br style="line-height: 17px;" />leaks into the grease that orbits their endeavors.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />i am eager to know if little hairs can make this bread become solid.<br style="line-height: 17px;" /><br style="line-height: 17px;" />the grooves i create are in records that were filed<br style="line-height: 17px;" />by generalized conscience and teasing glimpses.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />there's a disruption in my palette, and grey hair in the midst<br style="line-height: 17px;" />of assignments singing. i think about what to do<br style="line-height: 17px;" /><br style="line-height: 17px;" />and the ash tells me to step back, assume my role<br style="line-height: 17px;" />as platypus in the actor's rear. this seems sufficient,<br style="line-height: 17px;" />and no matter how empty this offering may be,<br style="line-height: 17px;" />it is what trails my regarded hands.<br style="line-height: 17px;" /><br style="line-height: 17px;" /><b style="font-weight: bold; line-height: 17px;"><br style="line-height: 17px;" />Conversation</b><br style="line-height: 17px;" /><br style="line-height: 17px;" />It was the horns by the gate,<br style="line-height: 17px;" />the desert a thing to get mesmerized by<br style="line-height: 17px;" />and the great tone, chisel blank, wattage to not fear,<br style="line-height: 17px;" />basement roses, routines to compliment.<br style="line-height: 17px;" /><br style="line-height: 17px;" />I followed him up the partly paved way,<br style="line-height: 17px;" />he spoke of honeycombs that hang in thin air,<br style="line-height: 17px;" />and thick air that was like billboards. "I am afraid,"<br style="line-height: 17px;" />he said, of this downfall into what rises from heat<br style="line-height: 17px;" /><br style="line-height: 17px;" />after one can indulge in an anthill that <br style="line-height: 17px;" />is not foreseen, and what the stick figure<br style="line-height: 17px;" />horizons can mean in such a stylized deluge.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />For this is a margin that is perhaps forbidden territory,<br style="line-height: 17px;" /><br style="line-height: 17px;" />an awful skyscraper hanging from the telephone lines,<br style="line-height: 17px;" />or something just as consistent, a gesture towards vision<br style="line-height: 17px;" />that poses as both a disruption and that which reaffirms this consistency."<br style="line-height: 17px;" />And he walked confidently, noticing the care taken on building step paths<br style="line-height: 17px;" /><br style="line-height: 17px;" />for the first or second time, exalting that, it is built, there is no lie.<br style="line-height: 17px;" />I walked alongside and watched the plow<br style="line-height: 17px;" />invisible in the sky, the tethers on the ranch at a comical distance,<br style="line-height: 17px;" />and receded into mercy and hesitant delivery.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #2a2a2a; font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><b>Garrett Johnson</b></i> <i>currently resides and writes in Athens, GA. He studied Creative Writing and other assorted stuff at Warren Wilson College and the Evergreen State College. He is currently learning guitar chords and being secretive.</i></span></span>Connor Stratmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063932999148229286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4592918546677772073.post-84261981668057119982012-03-21T16:08:00.000-07:002012-03-21T16:08:12.717-07:002 poems by Suzanne Savickas<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=4592918546677772073&postID=8426198166805711998" name="_GoBack"></a></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><b>For Akilah</b><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Stood as tall as the neighboring skyscrapers, heel to toe. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The crows appeared this afternoon. Never savage. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Never cruel. Feel the beat within before shaking the rhythm out. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Counting minus nine lives. Returns back to this space as an owl. Nocturnal, we can no </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">longer see,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> but we still feel. Troubadours. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Transverse the points in a diagonal line pointing upwards.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><b>Preface to a Triangle</b><o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">A formulaic response, prosaic in nature, simple in form. The angles cannot form ridges. The sides cannot permeate. He will not speak to her softly. She will not respond back. The ravine in the backyard overflows in his mind. She refuses to continue the thought process. The desire to create a lake from the ravine becomes idealistic. She transfers his patterned words into a more legible text. His thinking smears before them.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Smog. The color of his dirty feet after barefoot marks all day. Never notices that. Never sees the discoloration. The toes bend sideways—slowly opposing farther from the body. Her hair, curled locks of persimmon, drop a half inch from left toe. His right foot shifts in mechanical response. The definition is limitless. She will forget to buy socks tomorrow. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The lyrical correspondence begins in his nostrils. Breath self-regulates before lips parts ways. They would rather write each other abbreviated notes. A foreign language created for the pair. More simple than speech. More simple than meaning (less) words spoken (before) by many.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The utterance of unknown vernacular forges root before giving seed. Not topographical. The couple sitting at the next bench turn to gaze in unison. One might expect bad music begin to chime in with out of tune chords and poor phrasing for a B-List Cinema Reel. She wishes that the situation could be more black and white. Translucent to egg-shell-cream. She seldom realizes her inner strength. Fists clenched. Elbows bent. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">II<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Parallelograms arranged before the audience. The pair of strangers in the background seldom pay attention to their surroundings. The wilted oak leaf on the ground appears more interesting than the flesh juxtaposed.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
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<div style="text-indent: 0px !important;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><i>Suzanne Savickas </i></b><i>is the founder of Le Pink-Elephant Press, as well as the print journal, A Trunk of Delirium. Her work has appeared in Oranges and Sardines, 13 myna birds, and Monkey Puzzle, among others. She is currently working on a manuscript of poems based on photographer, Cindy Sherman's Untitled Film Stills. Suzanne lives and writes in Cleveland, Ohio. </i></span></span></div><div style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></div>Connor Stratmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063932999148229286noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4592918546677772073.post-35967256323319454892012-03-21T13:45:00.000-07:002012-03-21T13:45:11.555-07:004 poems by Howie Good<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">READING THE RIOT ACT<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I look up from what I’m reading at a bare tree framed in the kitchen window, a puffy little robin shivering on the nearest branch. In an unknown street turned down by mistake, someone is always being asked, “Last name?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All of us who ever wondered who it was that invented logic expect to be arrested for things we didn’t do, adopting a language, for example, that has no word for the past, what sounds through the fence like shaved heads and tattooed numbers, hunched men lighting cigarettes, as surprised as I am at how many books my arms can carry.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The fat shadow of a zeppelin crawled over upturned faces, my stoned-out smile queasily in place. What’s the duty of the storyteller if not to tell what happened in the order that it happened? A cat left a dead bird by the front door as a gift, curiously without any blood or marks of violence on it. The spruce tree became a cello. There was no such thing as cancer of the heart. The technical term was cardiomyopathy. Eyes, as joyless as zeroes, gathered whatever would burn.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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</style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">DOUBLE NEGATIVE<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Look out the window, the caller said, summer’s over. My face was a searchlight aimed at nothing. The hum I heard was just loud enough for me to believe that insects and birds might still exist. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A blonde in Boston screams my name while having drunken sex with a stranger. I never liked these hours, the homeless at every corner and in front of every church.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Up before the sun, you clean your shotgun. It’s a little too early for me to think about dinner. The shorter shells, the more rounds you can load. Your hand waves goodbye at the end of someone else’s arm. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Everything I leave behind, Thoreau said, is to be burned – moose, Indian, tree. It took almost a whole book of matches before the flame would stay lit. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> </span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight: bold; text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">MANIC DEPRESSION<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight: bold; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The wind <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">thrusts <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">its hooked beak <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">into me.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And only <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">moments ago, <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">wind<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">was light <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">on fire.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight: bold; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana; font-weight: bold; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana; text-align: justify;"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><b><i>Howie Good</i>, </b>a journalism professor at SUNY New Paltz, is the author of the new poetry collection, <i>Dreaming in Red,</i> from Right Hand Pointing. All proceeds from the sale of the book go to a crisis center, which you can read about here: https://sites.google.com/site/rhplanding/howie-good-dreaming-in-red. He is also the author of numerous chapbooks, including most recently <i>The Devil’s Fuzzy Slippers</i> from Flutter Press and <i>Personal Myths</i> from Writing Knights Press. He has another chapbook, <i>Fog Area</i>, forthcoming from Dog on a Chain Press.</span><b style="font-size: 8pt;"><o:p></o:p></b></span></div><!--EndFragment--><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Verdana; font-weight: bold; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 8.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p><br />
</o:p></span></div><!--EndFragment--><br />
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<!--EndFragment-->Connor Stratmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063932999148229286noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4592918546677772073.post-53571863298249043382012-03-14T12:47:00.000-07:002012-03-14T12:47:24.816-07:003 poems by Michael Bernstein<b><br />
</b><br />
<b>centrifuge</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
here,where<br />
lust's dumb<br />
braille<br />
swells&<br />
shreds the<br />
tethers,<br />
haunts<br />
the air<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
here, in<br />
unkempt,<br />
viral<br />
dark,a<br />
fission<br />
growing,<br />
slays yr<br />
name<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
here,the<br />
gears<br />
slow to<br />
a crawl,<br />
a meta-<br />
static,<br />
ultra Bliss<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
here,in<br />
every lan-<br />
guage<br />
swarms<br />
a soft<br />
refusal<br />
of the<br />
knife<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
here,past<br />
menac'd<br />
streets we<br />
lay w/<br />
our pla-<br />
toon of<br />
tired<br />
Gods<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>hex</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
yr feet<br />
boil<br />
<br />
the pave-<br />
ment,yr<br />
voice bu-<br />
ckles<br />
<br />
glass<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>wrung of faces</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
the night<br />
holds us<br />
to this<br />
<br />
ero-<br />
sion of<br />
sense,<br />
a ditto<br />
<br />
wrung of<br />
faces,a<br />
joyous<br />
<br />
molten<br />
slur.the<br />
map<br />
blanch'd<br />
<br />
yr myth<br />
is vague<br />
&hides<br />
<br />
in coves<br />
of low-<br />
slung<br />
lights.<br />
smoke<br />
<br />
spittle,<br />
the neu-<br />
ral drone<br />
of bugs<br />
<br />
pushing<br />
towards er-<br />
asure,a<br />
kiss<br />
<br />
to bi-<br />
sect<br />
skies<br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"><i><b><br />
</b></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"><i><b><br />
</b></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"><i><b>Michael Bernstein</b> is a writer, bass player, and intermedia composer. His work has appeared in publications such as New American Writing, milk, and BlazeVOX, as well as in numerous chapbooks. With Michael Crake, he edits the online literary arts magazine Pinstripe Fedora, and often serves as a musical accompanist for other poets. Michael lives in Cleveland Heights, OH.</i></span>Connor Stratmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063932999148229286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4592918546677772073.post-69704549132726366772012-03-13T08:03:00.001-07:002012-03-13T08:05:14.377-07:00Updated Submission Guidelines<i><b>Send 3-5 poems and a short bio to connor.stratman@hotmail.com <br />
Please allow 1-3 weeks for a response.<br />
Simultaneous submissions accepted, but no previously published work.</b></i><b><br />
</b><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJg7zh1Jta2p45e4GgITYXEP1hwazEFcpPSOJV9jtB0pW-7WvEQgrlJ5FHzLJXtvgKyIC8EjLiaMP-PF-TLhYO0Nv8qlZEcXxr9tEo1kO90T2Yl7zrqQQXw1fJ6O9lUsr0yeu1H3pe8ixM/s1600/kentridge_zenomannets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJg7zh1Jta2p45e4GgITYXEP1hwazEFcpPSOJV9jtB0pW-7WvEQgrlJ5FHzLJXtvgKyIC8EjLiaMP-PF-TLhYO0Nv8qlZEcXxr9tEo1kO90T2Yl7zrqQQXw1fJ6O9lUsr0yeu1H3pe8ixM/s320/kentridge_zenomannets.jpg" width="256" /></a></div><i>What we're looking for:</i><br />
Lyrical, inventive, surreal, funny, pathos, emotionless, conceptual, artificial, political, paratactic, colorful, experimental/weird, invective, prose poems, obliquely gnostic, etc. We also welcome essays on poetics and criticism, provided they're short (not to be much more that 500-600 words).<br />
<br />
<i>What we're not looking for:</i><br />
Poems that do exactly what you'd expect a poem to do. For example: rhyming (unless it's genius, and we have a strict definition of genius rhyming [cf. Pope, Dickinson]), sentimentality, "realism," simple metaphor/simile (dust in the wind, red red roses, etc.), definite themes, historical regression, imitations of Billy Collins or Charles Bukowski, classroom assignments, love poems that are easily read as such, rants/vents, etc. <br />
<br />
<br />
Looking forward to reading you,<br />
The BalloonConnor Stratmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063932999148229286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4592918546677772073.post-35528931763685870162012-03-12T21:21:00.001-07:002012-03-12T21:28:19.353-07:003 poems by Cynthia Spencer<b>Inertia</b><br />
<br />
It was said that one falls only from heights, but there is<br />
<br />
a sound in this that catches on a carving of a vertebra, and<br />
<br />
folds gloved hands in church, and asks the water to take the <br />
<br />
rocks and the ice to break against the ice, and rushes <br />
<br />
over itself in waves, leaving splinters and claiming what it could.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Chicken</b><br />
<br />
It's this slow unraveling, this<br />
game of chicken, you look away first,<br />
then I'll look away. My impossible<br />
paper cut easy into shapes<br />
that carry water up hills, and down,<br />
hanging from sticks across<br />
bone-vaulted sweat-shine, <br />
breathe out sick now.<br />
<br />
Your cold, <br />
sore knees. Your impossible<br />
stomach keeping you<br />
awake where a corner of the moon,<br />
a skintight pie wedge, uncovers<br />
a flaw in the painted window<br />
and illuminates the white of<br />
your shot, shocked, open-lashed<br />
eye.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Lesser</b><br />
<br />
Ever unkempt in monsoon season,<br />
with a smirk and a lean back,<br />
and a right hand smoking Nazi<br />
cock and left handed stories falling<br />
down stairs into the color of<br />
a bruised apple, cheekbones<br />
cold, flushed from the wind<br />
on the way home, followed,<br />
bliss, to babydoll suffocation<br />
and thinking it means something.<br />
<br />
Cut back mild and semi-blind<br />
break-necked out but baby<br />
hangs around, not quite <br />
nocturnal now is the <br />
summer of our<br />
<br />
the touch is too easy and all<br />
I want is for you to keep me honest<br />
what with overflow, loose-lipped <br />
travesty of overwrought boredom, <br />
innard bath.<br />
<br />
I listen cause I say I wanna know<br />
everything, blubbering haircut <br />
staying near my old friend's brother's <br />
high school fuck bunny <br />
whose eyeliner really is impeccable. <br />
<br />
I know you feel tall under the low ceiling, <br />
steely eyed and toeless holding to the tilt <br />
the floor up overhead discarded beer cans collect <br />
in the rafters and rain down drops of cheap<br />
dissatisfaction. It's a slaughter without regard,<br />
decaying gratitude and undercooked<br />
poorly lit one-drum town face pretty like.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i><b>Cynthia Spencer</b> is the author of the poetry chapbook in what sequence will my parts exit (plumberries press, 2011). She is a founding member of the poetry collective Velvet in-Between and organizes the reading series Cloudburst in Milwaukee, WI.</i>Connor Stratmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063932999148229286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4592918546677772073.post-75682901491507537412011-03-13T09:25:00.000-07:002011-03-13T15:58:39.754-07:003 Poems by Lina Ramona Vitkauskas<b>MKE YR MONITR CUM ALIVE<br />
</b><br />
<i>If you follow your intake pipe from the left hand side of the engine bay where it creeps up to the manifold, this is where the throttle body is. <br />
<br />
—Beginning of directions to clean your throttle valve </i><br />
<br />
You played me, quite frankly. <br />
A quail’s breath killed in code.<br />
The signal goggled our hands, <br />
a shale supervisor wrung prison<br />
gaskets from our clothes. <br />
We performed oily <i>samsara </i><br />
every summer.<br />
<br />
Define “shaving me.”<br />
Reverse “type.”<br />
<br />
Captivate the one, unmarked<br />
mechanism within me<br />
and mke yr monitr cum alive. <br />
<br />
The immaculate screams<br />
of wonder. The afternoon <br />
is clairvoyant. <br />
<br />
How many men?<br />
How many women? <br />
How may we help you? <br />
<br />
Miro and Picasso knew<br />
to make women birds, <br />
to open all the butterfly valves <br />
like a postcard from yourself <br />
in the present. Later,<br />
<br />
we had to fix this sentence to read: <br />
“Your car is your metaphor <br />
Your metaphor is your car.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>The Karate of Perspective </b><br />
<br />
George Daynor must build me <br />
a steel biome, lift me from soiled<br />
napkins and molting trinkets. <br />
<br />
I am interested in being electrocuted<br />
by gingko leaves, in being Antoinette,<br />
floating above karats of galvanized halls<br />
<br />
in a dressing gown of cascading typewriter<br />
ribbons and honeydew. I still shake from <br />
a long winter of binneya* burrowing into <br />
<br />
my rhubarb. I have no salt upon my palms<br />
to reconstruct me from hibernation. <br />
I am Sula Pitta** in Nome.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
* An air-breathing land slug<br />
** A species of bird in Indonesia.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>POETS 2.0: AL QUNUT*</b><br />
<br />
Confess to them.<br />
Offer a Protoconch.<br />
Tighten their tourniquets.<br />
Wash their cars,<br />
laugh at their jokes,<br />
agree with them that <br />
the night is correct, yes, gods<br />
<br />
and snowbirds share these black symptoms:<br />
they are isotopes, elusive<br />
muses. Vicariously ache<br />
their existential plight.<br />
Among vesper murmurs,<br />
assure them they are relevant and “irrefutably magickal” <br />
<br />
and fun. <br />
<br />
Agree that a child's voice<br />
is an absurd disguise. That<br />
it's no accident that the lesson of civilization is alienation. Remain silent while they blast<br />
you with subtle and/or searing<br />
breath of lust and/or jealousy.<br />
Become their dog. Dance, drink,<br />
<br />
and smoke with them at the wax<br />
banquet, sunset cruise. Lie to them<br />
about your experiences. Fuck them.<br />
Assert all human kindness is<br />
a prawn. Nod in agreement.<br />
Yes, forests, yes, guns. <br />
Tune your glass antennae <br />
below the blood-rust stairs.<br />
Covet them as you burn<br />
yesterday’s robin eggs. Take them<br />
from the shiny police and call <br />
them adorable, trashy, or contemporary.<br />
<br />
<i>* Arabic: “being obedient” or “the act of standing”<b></b></i><br />
<br />
<br />
<i><b>Lina Ramona Vitkauskas</b> is the author of three poetry books/chapbooks: THE RANGE OF YOUR AMAZING NOTHING (Ravenna Press, 2010); Failed Star Spawns Planet/Star (dancing girl press, 2006); and Shooting Dead Films with Poets (Fractal Edge Press, 2004).<br />
</i>Connor Stratmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063932999148229286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4592918546677772073.post-84921324487005916662011-01-12T12:27:00.001-08:002011-01-12T12:28:25.032-08:001 poem by Connor Stratman<b>Dedication to the New Book</b><br />
<br />
Too early to crack the new spine,<br />
Or too late to stop the passed print,<br />
To chilled Melling laying supine,<br />
I’m fighting the dark urge to sprint. <br />
<br />
So, dear Readers, please do beware<br />
And burn heavy through what you read.<br />
For the wrote word is built to tear<br />
Into the eye and plant a seed.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>- January 12, 2011</i>Connor Stratmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063932999148229286noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4592918546677772073.post-90195183164967211842010-12-05T11:57:00.000-08:002010-12-05T11:57:42.674-08:005 Poems by Joseph V. Milford<b>SPITTING IN A LIZARD’S EYE</b><br />
<br />
You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar<br />
But he was tougher than a two dollar steak<br />
And crazier than a sprayed roach—hell, if you<br />
<br />
Put his brain in a gnat’s ass, the damn thing would<br />
Fly backwards. That dog won’t hunt. I told him,<br />
“You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.”<br />
<br />
He looked like he’d been beaten by a bag of nickels.<br />
He was out all night stealing the bridles off of nightmares.<br />
I aim to worry-wart the cowlick off that scalawag, fixin’ to.<br />
<br />
You never sell your mule to buy the plow. Any clodhopper<br />
Knows that. Either fish or cut bait. There’s no time to waste.<br />
And you best be careful—the sun don’t shine on the same dog’s tail<br />
<br />
All the time. Nobody pisses on my leg and tells me it’s raining.<br />
<br />
<b>CAPTAIN OF THE FOOTBALL TEAM</b><br />
<br />
I was once a legend.<br />
Then I was scrapmetal.<br />
Then I found a map.<br />
<br />
I was once a carwreck.<br />
Then I was a cartographer<br />
Without legs in a swamp.<br />
<br />
I was once a pole of the earth<br />
Bored and reverberating;<br />
I walked away from the factory.<br />
<br />
I was once a manufacturer,<br />
A metal-melder with trademarks,<br />
Any practical invention no one loved.<br />
<br />
I became a hometown hero,<br />
Missing a few fingers,<br />
Always able to give flawless directions<br />
<br />
To anything crude, abandoned, local.<br />
<br />
<b>Underprivileged Youth</b><br />
<br />
These days, most want to be crows and ravens.<br />
These cataracts make pretty smogs, I reckon.<br />
By my figuring, you walked out of a snagstorm<br />
To hand me a mushroom cloud. I call it cotton candy.<br />
<br />
Gnats whisper about the kitchen windows.<br />
Palmetto bugs crawl their cartography in the grass.<br />
I have a deeply submerged under the porch soul.<br />
You’ve felt it in every catfish you ever ate.<br />
<br />
These days, they try to subdue a great upheaval<br />
By giving us so many helpings of upheaval. Trifle<br />
To trifle, you will buy yourself back from those<br />
Who sold you before you knew you had value.<br />
<br />
It’s genius. I love it. Economics like a duck-billed<br />
Prospectus that lays eggs and still needs banks<br />
To be its tits. Now this is politics not poems.<br />
Those with guns on their wings never knew a difference.<br />
<br />
In the old days, most wanted to be otters or wolverines.<br />
Maybe sables. Maybe badgers. I remember realizing<br />
That sleek was not loyal and cunning was not reliable.<br />
I found this in an alley, a corpse in a brown paper bag.<br />
<br />
Often, the daffodils are the worst army I have seen.<br />
Their lush green and gold taller than my two-year-old<br />
Unless I pay a stranger. I am shorter than weeds now.<br />
I am spiderwebs on oaks. I hold things like crows can<br />
<br />
In their small leather and bone hooks. This way<br />
Of strife is only an anthill doused with gasoline.<br />
A teen-ager pregnant with vertigo will drop her<br />
sparkler and kill a world with the end of her summer.<br />
<br />
<b>My Wife’s Skin</b><br />
<br />
This time I gave her the pelt<br />
It had been marked petulant<br />
She smelled it before kissing me<br />
Then she kissed it—I felt vindicated<br />
And I worked for mendicants<br />
The pelt was holographic and skimmered<br />
I suggested that we could put it<br />
Through many vents or processes<br />
Which could make it less pelt and more<br />
Silver but she really attached a lot<br />
Of pelt to it—this was my mistake<br />
Then she, for a moment, let me hold the pelt<br />
For safekeeping, even though it pained her,<br />
She went to a place where this generosity,<br />
Or its stamp, was not avant or vogue enough<br />
I put the pelt in a window several stories high<br />
Hoping it would jump or fall or hiccup out<br />
The pelt in that window wrapped its imagination<br />
About my oblongata and I became its animal<br />
Upon her return, I was skinned, but willfully<br />
She wore me well unto I was tufts and lint<br />
I never loved like that before—I found myself<br />
Floating about her as mites chewed me in air<br />
I thought to myself about myself when I once<br />
Watched clouds on my back, thinking I was on earth<br />
But I had always been on a cloud watching<br />
Things I thought were clouds, or better yet, worse than that. <br />
<br />
<b>Moreland, Georgia Nocturne</b><br />
<br />
I woke with runes across the bridge of my nose.<br />
(They might be freckles or indentations from quilt wrinkles.)<br />
<br />
I woke with angels outside my balcony.<br />
(Hummingbirds at their feeders on the porch,<br />
<br />
We put hummingbird food out like people think wind.)<br />
I woke with knowledge of ancient Celtic alchemy.<br />
<br />
(Still these transformations happen in ovaries of tiger lilies.<br />
They blossom in the yard under thunderstorms.)<br />
<br />
I awoke with a Mohawk; its roots were the World Tree;<br />
its spikes were the constellations.<br />
<br />
(Sincerely I went to work and taught my classes.)<br />
I woke with a musket in my hand and went to kill bootleggers.<br />
<br />
The rabbits ran from the back of the house away from the wild cabbage.<br />
I woke with the snake in my head and was King George.<br />
<br />
I saved all of Europe from Satan and Dragons with a painting.<br />
(The salamanders [I wished he was a chameleon], the camouflaged<br />
<br />
little dragons make me laugh as they writhe about linoleum.)<br />
In the back yard, 50 feet or so from the house, is a ravine, a dead riverbed.<br />
<br />
I know that there was once a railroad behind this house—a tract.<br />
I woke knowing I was here to be a dying loser, never a writer. Writher, I mean.<br />
<br />
I thought when I saw it that it was a riverbed but it was formerly a railroad track.<br />
To me that is a direct message to me called a symbol.<br />
<br />
Once you get a symbol, you must make a language for it. Tongues and braids.<br />
Takes time and responsibility. Runes across our noses.<br />
<br />
I know now that ever-everything has conspired to put me here.<br />
You all know the same thing as you look out over your tier,<br />
<br />
Over those runes on the bridges of our noses<br />
Into the infinite things<br />
<br />
That love us and wait for us. To compose words like rings<br />
around their fingers to make the bonds seem real.<br />
<br />
To make the bonds a composition.<br />
To make you compose, but then, really, I see now that we are strung<br />
<br />
Christmas lights over a garden; we hang there in fright<br />
waiting for the worlds we created in snowglobes with dry ice<br />
<br />
to kill the worlds we live in in our offices,<br />
in our hospices, in our ravines that were once rivers, traintracks—<br />
<br />
make a fist, a pact, an auspice<br />
(Then, put your hand over your face.<br />
<br />
Then slowly draw your hand down<br />
until you see your eyes.<br />
<br />
Now you are doing this<br />
in a mirror. I’ll bet you—<br />
<br />
if you can stop your hand upon your eyes<br />
you are further along than me<br />
<br />
because I draw my hand down and cover my mouth<br />
and I scream).<br />
<br />
You have wakened the wrong man in the middle of your own dream.<br />
It’s okay—we’ll call it even. We share this labyrinth.<br />
<br />
We both will until you wake writing runes. Coming to terms<br />
With the dry riverbed and the new tongue.<br />
<br />
<b>Joseph V. Milford</b> <i>is a Professor of English at Georgia Military College south of Atlanta. His first book, Cracked Altimeter, was published in 2010. He is the host of the weekly Joe Milford Poetry Show (http://joemilfordpoetryshow.com), which he maintains with his awesome wife Chenelle. He also edits the literary journal Scythe with his wife from their shack in rural Georgia. Currently he is happy with the Atlanta Falcons football team.</i>Connor Stratmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063932999148229286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4592918546677772073.post-39584057769153059392010-07-19T10:15:00.000-07:002010-07-19T10:15:03.168-07:005 poems by Andrew Taylor<b>Best Served Ice Cold</b><br />
<br />
Beyond the yard fields scrub <br />
and electric fence<br />
<br />
near a plane takes off<br />
while one lands<br />
<br />
this room is quietness<br />
<br />
in the bag is a packet of paracetamol<br />
<br />
the drink is refreshment <br />
it contains natural flavourings<br />
<br />
flavouring caffeine <br />
<br />
along the ridge runs a long red train<br />
slowly following an amber signal<br />
<br />
while out there somewhere<br />
there is a heart with my name <br />
etched on to it<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Endanger Fencin</b><br />
<br />
A blinding division walk the Brecon Beacons<br />
amongst pale horses at Easter<br />
<br />
creatures caught in traps shot in the back <br />
of the head a countryside of carnage<br />
<br />
from the beginning hotels near Heathrow<br />
twenty four hour rolling news <br />
<br />
a chance to study war how I’d have liked you<br />
to walk with me around cities at night<br />
<br />
drinking whiskey and listening to shock<br />
radio like a bad mistake I ponder<br />
<br />
anonymous scream pilots descend <br />
at half mile intervals in a seated night<br />
<br />
I was unaware that you would wait for me<br />
like the ghost ration of a slow light I isolate<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Washing Day</b><br />
<br />
Light rain brings with it the smell<br />
of the earth though in the city it's mixed<br />
<br />
with fumes this slow walk through<br />
back streets past shuttered shops <br />
<br />
and corners where memories lurk <br />
attempt to wring some kind of response<br />
<br />
Hope Street white steps lit heaven bound<br />
red spilling neon from the Everyman<br />
<br />
Leave to drive escape those furies that loiter<br />
and want to drag me through the mill again<br />
<br />
Be gone<br />
<br />
Slashed light at 11.30 pm tells its own time<br />
over bridges and out to sea I see Christmases<br />
<br />
past waiting for a return <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>The bang of the bee</b><br />
<br />
Tapping at 6.00 a.m. French windows<br />
except I'm not in France<br />
<br />
Clouds are low for June yesterday Marta<br />
complained about the weather <br />
<br />
The bee tries to gain access flies off in a huff<br />
the tea is slightly milky<br />
<br />
The flowers that Antoine bought are <br />
lasting well I think it's the vase<br />
<br />
High skirting boards low window frames<br />
a quietness enhanced by foliage<br />
<br />
If Rachel was here she'd talk to the bee<br />
and I'd take her for ice cream afterwards<br />
<br />
Instead the goldfinch appears bringing<br />
a recognizable song <br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Please leave the Kitchen thank you</b><br />
<br />
Refuge the glow of vending machine<br />
red a century logo <br />
<br />
Such familiarity<br />
<br />
mobile telephones must be switched off<br />
Before entering<br />
<br />
Ignored<br />
<br />
Slight hum of rat's piss<br />
<br />
It looks like the Starship Enterprise<br />
<br />
Surfers crash the wave<br />
with paparazzi in bushes<br />
a desire to be sought and found<br />
<br />
Selling face value ticket to a wide<br />
kohl eyed EMO at an intimate Killers<br />
gig<br />
before they went stellar<br />
<br />
30/11/03 Warwick 26/5/05 Liverpool<br />
<br />
"oh look it's a bra" Chorley accent<br />
amidst the madness<br />
<br />
If music be the food of love<br />
I thank it for its help <br />
the strings the swells <br />
<br />
cold rooms<br />
in Bootle the role it played <br />
<br />
in warming <br />
me <br />
<br />
like Jonsi beavering away <br />
on his laptop making music<br />
through necessity <br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Andrew Taylor</b> is a Liverpool poet and co-editor of <i>erbacce</i> and erbacce-press. His latest collection comes from The Knives Forks and Spoons Press. Poems have recently appeared in <i>Calliope Nerve</i>, <i>The Camel Saloon</i>, <i>MUST</i> and <i>Durable Goods</i>. He has a PhD in Poetry and Poetics.Connor Stratmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063932999148229286noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4592918546677772073.post-13193170391801988532010-06-22T09:42:00.000-07:002010-06-22T09:42:41.993-07:002 poems by Alan Britt<b>ALIENS</b><br />
<br />
There could be aliens<br />
under my couch.<br />
<br />
Well, just because it’s never happened?<br />
<br />
When’s the last time<br />
you vacuumed your couch?<br />
<br />
See, I could be an alien falling madly in love with you<br />
this very moment,<br />
and you wouldn’t even notice.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>CLOUDS<br />
</b><br />
<i>(For Ultra Violet)</i><br />
<br />
Clouds.<br />
<br />
Bluewhite clouds,<br />
pipe smoke<br />
trailing the Bride’s dragonfly wings.<br />
<br />
The King arrives.<br />
<br />
At least we think he’s a King,<br />
though, nowadays,<br />
we keep a tight grip on our senses.<br />
<br />
Clouds<br />
part the curtains<br />
of our amnesia,<br />
and the King enters<br />
lifting arthritic windows,<br />
forcing clouds like oxygen<br />
through the gills of our souls.Connor Stratmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063932999148229286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4592918546677772073.post-68540590813044716522010-06-22T09:37:00.000-07:002010-06-22T09:37:10.206-07:002 poems by John Raffetto<b>CENOTE IN SIAN KA’AM</b><br />
<br />
Craters of sunken limestone<br />
surround Mayan children and tangled mangroves<br />
where a jaguar lies<br />
waiting for the final footstep <br />
into the rainforests<br />
of Guatemala.<br />
<br />
A refugee washes dust from a night bus ride<br />
in a cenote.<br />
Where the sky is born <br />
and the earth breathes.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>EMPTY GREENHOUSE</b><br />
<br />
Empty in an empty greenhouse,<br />
flat concrete bench with <br />
algae stained circles <br />
pots removed,<br />
peeling white paint on vertical metal pipes<br />
grey heat from horizontal metal pipes <br />
below the benches<br />
where an occasional hollow tap from open valves <br />
a dry steam settles on the glass<br />
empty greenhouse.Connor Stratmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063932999148229286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4592918546677772073.post-34559446264692495212010-06-22T09:09:00.000-07:002010-06-22T09:09:15.848-07:00Book Review: Jeni Olin's Hold TightHold Tight: The Truck Darling Poems<br />
Jeni Olin<br />
Hanging Loose Press<br />
231 Wyckoff Street, Brooklyn, NY 11217<br />
9781934909140, $18.00, www.amazon.com<br />
<br />
by Connor Stratman<br />
<br />
<br />
Jeni Olin, who actually goes by the name Truck Darling, is noted for her visceral, surreal, chaotically allusive poetry. Her first book, Blue Collar Holiday, was praised by John Ashbery as being "wonderfully caustic and vulnerable. Raw and strangely accommodating." That collection saw Olin within the throes of dealing with the death of a lover, the breakdown of youth, and the collision of symbols.<br />
<br />
In her new collection, Hold Tight, we see this same crashing, internally hostile world transformed through new eyes by the poetic voice of Truck Darling, a voice that manages to be distinctive yet eerily disembodied at the same time. This time out, we find poetry that aims low and emerges high, a jarring yet coherent aesthetic which challenges readers to make sense of the contradictions of language put in front of them. In "Doll Steak," she writes:<br />
<br />
"Do your sinuses itch, little wolf,<br />
like boys in steaming ghettos beaming<br />
handsomely with sinister little dolls,<br />
racked, trembling with nightsweats,<br />
all the coloring books streaked with piss?"<br />
<br />
The center of the world is perpetually shaky, uncertain. The voice finds itself in many places at once, able to verbally respond but not so able to comprehend. Language falls away from being a tool of communication and towards a mode of action. The action of language is imperfect but is nevertheless a way of standing still within time, the "swampy terrain" of temporality.<br />
<br />
Reading this book is much being on a rollercoaster going too fast, with all the visual world around you spinning so quickly that a dreamlike nausea comes on. This nausea produces an oceanic feeling, unsettling yet reassuring. The poems are based on this seemingly chaotic yet ordered movement, and the pace never lets up until you put the book down. You feel "Drawn & quartered, I'll fuse again,/my spine creamy."<br />
<br />
Hold Tight holds up as one of the best books of poetry of the last decade, holding steady ground against many other modern masterworks like Gabriel Gudding's Rhode Island Notebook, Jennifer Moxley's The Sense Record, and Graham Foust's A Mouth in California. I would also say that Jeni Olin/Truck Darling is among the finest living poets in America, and this collection proves that statement. For all her linguistic invention, startling imagery, and wide-ranging allusions, it's difficult to imagine a more truly effective poet working today. Read this book.Connor Stratmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063932999148229286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4592918546677772073.post-63471591144310971262010-06-22T08:46:00.000-07:002010-06-22T08:46:52.869-07:005 poems by Felino Soriano<b>Approbations 242</b><br />
<i>—after Anthony Braxton’s Four in One<br />
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Solid<br />
like colored partition<br />
delineating preference within dispositional<br />
attribution; * : understanding<br />
<br />
eye, the esurient interpreter<br />
foundling sadness comparable persuasion<br />
where among faceless followers,<br />
mother, father? |displayed| mirrors of<br />
DNA finality.<br />
Various slants<br />
of the eventual embracing<br />
shifting<br />
shapes on reticent plateaus, curating<br />
analogies of life and distance, combining<br />
collocational devices, act/reenact<br />
turmoil dissolves<br />
whereas perfection,<br />
inexistence.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Approbations 243</b><br />
<i>—after John Coltrane’s Mr. Syms<br />
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Man of elder comprehension, reasons<br />
with dialectical promise, problem<br />
-solve variants<br />
mathematic veracity, misunderstood<br />
straight-lined desires.<br />
Without<br />
wife now, third of a decade’s 10th anniversary<br />
<br />
cries<br />
<br />
her masticated name into the winds hollow,<br />
fascinated listening.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Approbations 244</b><br />
—<i>after Roy Hargrove Quintet’s Never Let Me Go<br />
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Worn, sound-thin, whispered<br />
found<br />
woven introspection<br />
with<br />
viable reconnection, tissue, virtue, apostolate<br />
secondary inspiration. Near<br />
gnarled growths on<br />
an oak’s misshapen exterior, breeze<br />
bends<br />
into<br />
notches of contemporary noise<br />
resonating between syllables of silent articulation,<br />
stay<br />
stay<br />
the moment retracts into unfolded time of willing moments, hoping<br />
to repeat therapeutic conversations among ensuing sun-risings,<br />
copacetic hoping of all-angled speculation.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Approbations 245</b><br />
<i>—after Christian Scott’s Re:<br />
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Current<br />
spike in ignorant postulations:<br />
|erased existence<br />
cannot delve into reverted warranties, the multidevoted<br />
wanderings|<br />
—catastrophes, these<br />
—soon awakening into breadths of hopeless tongues’<br />
irreconcilable burials.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Approbations 246</b><br />
<i>—after Joe Lovano’s Left Behind<br />
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Spirit’s mantra<br />
stuttering chants<br />
like a dragging chain’s painful clang<br />
tripping break<br />
against the whipping cold<br />
of concrete’s hardened, ambidextrous<br />
hands.<br />
<br />
Symptoms<br />
of a saddened sense of vocal calling forward,<br />
unheard realism<br />
a not yet shape of ideological rust,<br />
darkened edges of prose’s skeletal slack<br />
bringing forth singular, undetermined<br />
methods.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Biography Note:<br />
</i><br />
<b>Felino A. Soriano</b> (b. 1974), is a case manager and advocate for <br />
developmentally and physically disabled adults. He has authored 23 <br />
collections of poetry, including “Altered Aesthetics” (ungovernable press, <br />
2009), “Construed Implications” (erbacce-press, 2009), and “Delineated <br />
Functions of Congregated Constructs” (Calliope Nerve Media, 2010). His <br />
poems have appeared at Calliope Nerve, Full of Crow, BlazeVOX, Metazen, <br />
Heavy Bear, and elsewhere. He edits & publishes Counterexample Poetics, <br />
an online journal of experimental artistry, and Differentia Press, <br />
dedicated to publishing e-chapbooks of experimental poetry. Philosophical <br />
studies collocated with his connection to classic and avant-garde jazz <br />
explains motivation for poetic occurrences. His website explains further: <br />
www.felinoasoriano.info.Connor Stratmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063932999148229286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4592918546677772073.post-14765544773683044372010-03-02T20:21:00.000-08:002010-03-02T20:21:54.000-08:001 poem by Carl J. LaMark<b>Upon Mycenaean Grave Circle A</b><br />
<br />
Silver studded noses blame<br />
Carcasses of sheep for<br />
Hemming in, like velvet ropes,<br />
The crater swelled with paint.Connor Stratmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063932999148229286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4592918546677772073.post-55051294796598256572009-12-14T05:41:00.000-08:002009-12-14T05:41:38.566-08:002 poems by J. Michael Wahlgren<b>The Briefcase Room<br />
(After John Berryman)</b><br />
<br />
This <i>was</i> a dream, as I<br />
never felt that way before in life.<br />
I spoke in Braille, cursed<br />
my hands for ripening her breasts—<br />
Or<br />
In The Briefcase Room, where only<br />
<br />
one remains inside, the rest travel<br />
on Caps,<br />
or through the wedded arrival<br />
of groomsman etc. etc., No one has been inside without a code, the erosion<br />
of hinges. Years pass & no last minute decisions;<br />
all are planned by map. Rarely cash,<br />
<br />
mostly diamonds.<br />
It was the only way into your fault.<br />
It was the only way.<br />
It was the only way into the vault.<br />
No one has seen The Briefcase room,<br />
only <i>you</i> (!) know of its whereabouts.<br />
<br />
<b>Balloon</b><br />
<br />
With a comma, I breathe again, forcefully devouring, or reversing the smoke inside. Balloon filled with an in-tune note, releases & moves across the sky— a floating G-clef, a whole eye. Street lights attempt to caress the shadows— as I walk, notice, the breath of my air— hot. On the promenade, a drink is filled. Al fresco— the freshness of the gossip, like a plate of who’s who & who slept with who last night. I’m filled up quickly.Connor Stratmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063932999148229286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4592918546677772073.post-91746563696555315652009-12-07T19:45:00.000-08:002009-12-07T19:50:10.882-08:003 poems by Bill Yarrow<b>COUNTER REVOLUTIONARIES</b><br />
<br />
<br />
-The world is an ostrich.<br />
-Then the rich are giraffes.<br />
-They fertilize their hair with sunshine!<br />
-Still obsessed with Carl Laszlo, eh?<br />
<br />
-Man, I could tell you...<br />
-What? What could you tell me?<br />
-Do you remember the in-situ-ists?<br />
-I remember the in-sinu-ists.<br />
<br />
-I got a letter from Barbara in Toronto.<br />
-Does she still believe in governmental Santas?<br />
-Santa Barbara! O was she a dish!<br />
-I found her somewhat unpalatable.<br />
<br />
-Weren’t you the one hungry for her?<br />
-I heard she was into dogs.<br />
-That’s highly salacious!<br />
-Wasn’t he the emperor of Ethiopia?<br />
<br />
-I’ve never been anywhere. Not anywhere important.<br />
-Where’s important? Important is only in your head.<br />
-Maybe in your head. I’m in mental foreclosure.<br />
-Don’t let them repossess your frontal lobes!<br />
<br />
-All great fortunes have been amassed by stealing.<br />
-Not just that. “Property is theft!”<br />
-Proudhon.<br />
-My frère Pierre. <br />
<br />
-Could I bum a cigarette?<br />
-Who you calling a bum?<br />
-Don’t act stupid. Give me a smoke.<br />
- Choke on it.<br />
<br />
-I’m missing a match.<br />
-You got that right.<br />
-Ever wonder why so many people are gutless?<br />
-No.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>A WOMAN OF ENDS</b><br />
<br />
<br />
a large part of the dungeon was the life upon her knees<br />
a portion of the torture was a wilderness of hands<br />
an aspect of the nightmare was the unlit empty street<br />
the shade which wouldn't rise sent a chill along her cheek<br />
she shivered at the thought of never giving birth<br />
at the funeral of color she wept a strange disease<br />
what was not attended could no longer be attained<br />
on an endless loop of singing she heard the slogans she had dreamed<br />
she knitted her brow and feared the boiler exploding in the night<br />
from where would the help come tomorrow at this hour?<br />
why were there ghosts in the mirrors feeding on hope?<br />
where was the man who carried her agenda in his mind?<br />
what was happiness to her, a woman of perpetual mien,<br />
who lived wholly within the anguish of her imagination?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><br />
INTROSPECTION IS NOT AN AXE</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us.<br />
<br />
-Franz Kafka<br />
<br />
<br />
Was there, he wondered, some parasite,<br />
some infiltrated germ, some totalitarian<br />
pest, asbestos fiber, cancerous<br />
particle, irradiated isotope, sliver<br />
of glass, peach pit, foam nugget,<br />
stray hair, impinged corpuscle,<br />
magnesium wad, metaphysical<br />
quill or arrant stalk moored in him,<br />
or what? Why was it so difficult to move<br />
toward anything? Was his will congealed?<br />
<br />
His doctor recommended an Arctic cruise.<br />
He travels to a frozen stream, a frozen<br />
lake, a frozen sea. He photographs the<br />
awesome ice. A glacier calves inside him.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Bill Yarrow</b> <i>is the author of WRENCH (erbacce-press 2009). His poems have appeared in Central Park, Confrontation, Berkeley Poets Cooperative, Poem, The Literary Review, Mantis, Cabaret Voltage Online, The Orange Room Review, erbacce, blossombones, Angelic Dynamo, Counterexample Poetics, Gloom Cupboard, ditch, The Centrifugal Eye, Rio Grande Review, Up the Staircase, New Aesthetic, Pank and other literary magazines. He has poems forthcoming in DIAGRAM, Arsenic Lobster, and Poetry International. He lives in Illinois.</i>Connor Stratmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063932999148229286noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4592918546677772073.post-15087039084424119172009-11-15T18:13:00.000-08:002009-11-15T18:13:06.749-08:004 poems by Nick Leland<b>Grotbye.</b><br />
<br />
Barbecue's back in the yard again, it's not taking orders,<br />
I don't even know what he sees in her.<br />
The meat is still meat, everyone is praying on food.<br />
Rakes.<br />
<br />
El means The for Him and<br />
Crawdad crabs fighting black ants.<br />
Fourth of fucked backwards is still a terrible thing to say to a young lady.<br />
<br />
See the marbles? They're mason made aces.<br />
Building a Williams and Sonoma saucepan out of bones isn't comforting.<br />
<br />
Chills ain't too bad if you can get under someone else,<br />
but they still leave a foul taste in your mind.<br />
Save it till we're done littering.<br />
<br />
Those roses aren't what I think they smell like, <br />
ugly aureoles on a girl you were never interested in.<br />
Gnash and devour them.<br />
<br />
Caked on like it's already out of style,<br />
Only one way she's viral: botulism sighted sir<br />
we're making for land.<br />
<br />
There's a lack of stone here that indicates<br />
a lack of person.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Fat Foreign Family Seeks Fitness</b><br />
<br />
Screech, soiled meat child, bolt<br />
harried towards caloric revelation<br />
<br />
exterminate the choclatier, flamethrowers<br />
or inkwells, ardent hairless <br />
for them<br />
no eyebrows to spare<br />
<br />
it's peace in the falafel chopping block<br />
bragging on the pounds like the<br />
british in the 90's, she strides<br />
<br />
instinct driven daughters of revolutionary<br />
leaders lack the lack and walk the walk.<br />
Bring cheese, it's time.<br />
<br />
Aged aereolas rhyme fruitlessly<br />
hairs trickle down the sweat stained<br />
pump.<br />
He will have no strokes, old man.<br />
<br />
Given up the hideous chase, creased ignominy<br />
wastes so much time with scales and fish<br />
the mackeral is still quite fatty.<br />
<br />
Cleave to the beefs, the beets. Cut low<br />
out of useless legerdemaine the choice<br />
prime USDAssholes.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>The Old Mundance</b><br />
<br />
This was my home a few years ago.<br />
The wet irritants of small town Missouri are fields of clay.<br />
here is the building I slept in, loud and drab and old<br />
Thomas Jefferson. Three north north.<br />
and here is the fuckstained couch where she ended my first relationship<br />
it smelled of vomit and beer and whimpering fear, quite the bouquet.<br />
<br />
This was my home a few months ago.<br />
The garish gray streets of New Orleans, a bright distilled hell.<br />
this was my quiet apartment, with the gunshot commas<br />
uptown is three lies, you were always walking uphill into a shitriver.<br />
this is where I entranced<br />
fairlocation friends with half lies<br />
<br />
This was my home many years ago.<br />
The burning stereophonic streets of Dallas<br />
the house that shrank smaller around me, holes in walls and doors<br />
I was angrier.<br />
This is the room where I ended my second relationship.<br />
the overhead fan is always running, there is one working lightbulb.<br />
it's green.<br />
<br />
and here, this is my home now.<br />
It's filthy, with perverse warmth stifling the idiot cold of Chicago.<br />
this chair, black leather, is comfort.<br />
In this chair we will end my third relationship.<br />
grand score to a mundane event.<br />
<br />
Gesture south, and my arm stretches to three coasts.<br />
This will be my new home soon, everywhereville<br />
I will be subject of all I survey, the traveling saline man.<br />
I'll dissolve smiling into the roads.<br />
Steal every scrap of paper and cigarette butt and condom wrapper<br />
and make a pretty little house out of it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>For the Dishonored Dead</b><br />
<br />
Helen died four years ago.<br />
The funeral was what we all expected,<br />
family and a few friends clustered around a rainy hole.<br />
<br />
Passing from this world was her greatest gift to it.<br />
With a quiet end, she gave us all something<br />
The brutal dowager, <br />
Equal packets mourn her loss.<br />
<br />
In candy green November Helen told my mom that her boys weren't family.<br />
She was worried we would try to claim her inheritance <br />
and she had the good sense to know that we weren't hers.<br />
<br />
Tulsa, Oklahoma is always yellow.<br />
<br />
Great depression sunflower summer and she told me<br />
never to trust black people or Jews. <br />
And then stole the aircraft<br />
from my grandfather, Rowan.<br />
<br />
He flew in parcel piecemeal planes, Frankensteins of the sky.<br />
When his heart stuttered once, she told him he could never fly again.<br />
And on the ground my grandfather stayed,<br />
building planes he wouldn't fly.<br />
<br />
They were very pretty, the planes.<br />
<br />
I moved her from house to house twice, each time dutifully assisting Helen<br />
in relocating all of her possessions, and my grandfather's as well.<br />
She referred to me and my brother as “the dropouts.”<br />
<br />
Helen bore plagues, carried them around with her<br />
in a purse, so she could take them out and everyone could see.<br />
Diabetes, emphysema, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, cancer.<br />
She required a bag of Snickers bars and an audience just to make it through the day,<br />
and her lungs were always in excellent condition when she had things to buy at the mall.<br />
<br />
She liked shoes.<br />
<br />
And then she died.<br />
Helen had left no compensation for Rowan in her will, gifting her fortune instead to her Real children and grandchildren instead.<br />
Rowan was given three months to vacate the house where he cared for her in her last days.<br />
<br />
<br />
My grandfather Rowan needed new knees after her funeral.<br />
His steps carried her weight still. He stumbled a little up the three steps into our house. Hobbled to the kitchen bar where the orange glass of tequila my brother had poured for him waited.<br />
The old mechanic cried.<br />
<br />
My brother and I bore the pall for her funeral at Rowan's behest.<br />
We dressed somberly, we acted soberly.<br />
I shaved.<br />
<br />
It took quite some time.<br />
<br />
We carried Helen to her rest with funereal dignity.<br />
I stared at Rowan as he sniffed and coughed<br />
and the pastor said nice things about my grandmother.<br />
<br />
We smoked cigarettes outside the chapel after he was done.<br />
The ride home was punctuated with little<br />
declarations of joy from my family.<br />
I stared out the window and thought of what I would trade flying for.Connor Stratmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063932999148229286noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4592918546677772073.post-69639388396839736462009-10-21T09:37:00.000-07:002009-10-21T09:37:36.786-07:001 poem by Ben Lundquist<b>Indiana, 2006</b><br />
<br />
He studied Bible at Wheaton College<br />
He wants you to know that, son<br />
piglips chewing cud<br />
eyes blearing left, little girl on bicycle<br />
studied Bible at Wheaton College,<br />
just like your pops<br />
<br />
Check wife like congress for right to war<br />
right denied<br />
smile and nod like military maneuver<br />
<br />
Boat lilts too quick<br />
Drag lake with a look, expecting ghosts<br />
to pull him in <br />
but his eyes keep blearing left<br />
like he could turn pebbles to marbles,<br />
send the bike skidding into algae<br />
<br />
He hears you’re studying English<br />
He clicks his tongue:<br />
Son, what will my daughter live on?<br />
beer-cooler-iced-hand kneading temples<br />
eyes locked left, little girl in lake-ready bikini<br />
studying English . . . say, son, <br />
<i>I love summer</i><br />
<br />
Winks like handing over enemy papers<br />
keep face blank<br />
signal dead, no translator in headphones<br />
<br />
Chicken urine gas hangs<br />
Tyson plant chortles five miles away,<br />
relishes juvenilia<br />
but its floor manager is not amused<br />
his wink has set his face into a pirate squint<br />
his beer-cooler-iced-hand freezes to the oarConnor Stratmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063932999148229286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4592918546677772073.post-37279371010992295662009-10-18T12:37:00.000-07:002009-10-18T12:40:10.991-07:004 poems by Felino A. Soriano"Painters’ Exhalations 623<br />
—after Beo Nguyen’s The Philosopher"<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
He<br />
isolates in delineated function,<br />
the naked from geometric abstraction<br />
<br />
talking to summary of intelligent salvation. Answer<br />
<br />
answer<br />
<br />
the tongue’s cohesive hankering.<br />
<br />
Said to himself<br />
<br />
“I do not understand the language of my neighbor,<br />
but understand the vertical veracity<br />
my hand-held yoyo<br />
posits into a realm of<br />
personal separation from time,<br />
time.<br />
<br />
<br />
"Painters’ Exhalations 624<br />
—after Mike Massengale’s Out of the Darkness"<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Her strumming harmony<br />
attacks<br />
with winged liberation<br />
ground-summary<br />
erases<br />
upon<br />
uttered failed deconstruction.<br />
Her<br />
instrument<br />
vocalizes seismic<br />
comprehension<br />
sliding the blonde hair<br />
of Autumn’s nearing-end.<br />
<br />
Listen,<br />
her<br />
construct<br />
the personal concept<br />
imagination<br />
struggles<br />
until<br />
life within horizontal<br />
movement<br />
<br />
ignites first words<br />
into summarizing<br />
most-inner<br />
contours.<br />
<br />
<br />
"Painters’ Exhalations 625<br />
—after Sue Duda’s Crazy Fingers"<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
With elaboration<br />
the birthed is often<br />
subliminal.<br />
<br />
We’ll anticipate<br />
vertical curves’<br />
concrete expansion<br />
<br />
we’ll analyze<br />
<br />
pound<br />
pound<br />
pound echoes<br />
humming<br />
remorse for inexact narration<br />
tongue<br />
misquotes with adequate ease.<br />
<br />
Fingers, the curled<br />
tone of constant reverberating hail,<br />
admit<br />
to the watching fortune<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
jazz<br />
is the constant mirage<br />
glazing the eye with unobstructed<br />
<br />
rapture.<br />
<br />
<br />
"Painters’ Exhalations 626<br />
—after Donald Maier’s Backyard and Birdhouses"<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Because quiet<br />
is the best suited body<br />
to sit within embrace of white,<br />
plastic<br />
outdoor chairs, and the roaming beneath<br />
feet with cataract sight<br />
can roam within glare of green’s slanted grass,<br />
sectioning rooms<br />
of the yard’s most elegant,<br />
dilapidated region.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><b></b>Felino A. Soriano<b></b></b> (b. 1974, California), <i><i></i>is a case manager and<br />
advocate for developmentally and physically disabled adults. He has<br />
authored 15 collections of poetry, including “Altered Aesthetics”<br />
(ungovernable press, 2009), “Construed Implications” (erbacce-press,<br />
2009), “Compositions of Integrated Commonalities” (Recycled Karma<br />
Press, 2009), and “Various Angles of the Interpretation Paradigm”<br />
(Shadow Archer Press, 2009). He edits & publishes Counterexample<br />
Poetics, www.counterexamplepoetics.com, an online journal of<br />
experimental artistry, and Differentia Press,<br />
www.differentiapress.com, dedicated to publishing e-chapbooks of<br />
experimental poetry. He is also a contributing editor for Sugar Mule,<br />
www.sugarmule.com, and contributing editor for Post: A Journal of<br />
Thought and Feeling, www.postjournalofthoughtandfeeling.com.<br />
Philosophical studies collocated with his love of classic and<br />
avant-garde jazz explains motivation for poetic occurrences. His<br />
website explains further: www.felinoasoriano.info/.<i></i></i>Connor Stratmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063932999148229286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4592918546677772073.post-14816966292118330472009-10-06T18:21:00.000-07:002009-10-06T18:23:22.952-07:002 poems by Janie Gleason"Fillevox"<br />
<br />
Does it frighten you when I speak? Intricacy<br />
in the shape of leaf-skeletons, the dry skin on<br />
my lips, the pitch of my voice so high above<br />
yours-- does it make you shiver to hear me?<br />
<br />
My voice is sweet like a D.H. Lawrence fig,<br />
it is round with the promise of my womb,<br />
it is downswung like a child on a swing as I<br />
<br />
make empty promises, laugh at you from<br />
behind my hair. The calendar marks off days<br />
the size of an eggcup; I fill them quickly with<br />
the langour in my limbs, the way I can't make up<br />
my mind. I talk to you in riddles: a peach, a pomegranate,<br />
a meddler, a service tree.<br />
<br />
And I am milk and you are cereal.<br />
And I am bread; I am salt; I am<br />
a paper you write on. We are<br />
like all things that come in pairs--<br />
we stir into each other at times like tea.<br />
We query each other in furious stage-whispers.<br />
Your hand looks knobby and awkward<br />
next to mine.<br />
<br />
Do you look down suddenly when you hear<br />
my honey-mustard throating? What red-throated<br />
hummingbirds know as they duck their needle-mouths<br />
into the pitchers of flowers is what you still<br />
have left to learn. There is not another like me<br />
across five continents.<br />
<br />
"Sun & Juniper Girl"<br />
<br />
You're stuck in my eyes with a blanket<br />
of gingham sky, locust leaves. You're stuck<br />
in my hands with dandelion clocks, deer-berry<br />
clearings, birch trees, sunlight.<br />
<br />
You're stuck in my eyes; gears spin in the gasoline<br />
heat but I'm on foot, trudging past the milk-bottled town.<br />
The locals lean out of their porches to watch me pass.<br />
I am ducking behind trees, spinning spiderwebs sky-green,<br />
I am picking poplar leaves and smelling their yellowy green,<br />
I am breaking up inside like an iceberg, melting<br />
into the sweet sea-green of summer. I'm leaning<br />
on the gate to the summer, hands in pockets<br />
full of old smells.<br />
<br />
You're stuck in my eyes.<br />
The maple leaves of your soul lay<br />
one-over-the-other like fish scales,<br />
wrapping up the sap of my skin. I walk<br />
barefoot on the stones that line the back-roads<br />
of your heaviness. I swim underwater in the<br />
lake that kicks back the pictures of the sky.<br />
The clouds are cotton and the grass is<br />
stinging, lingering like ants on our skin--<br />
eventually I'll understand.<br />
<br />
<b>Janie Gleason</b> <i>writes from Bradford, Ontario with a cup of tea in one hand and dark brown French braids in her hair.</i>Connor Stratmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063932999148229286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4592918546677772073.post-9062554678969080782009-09-21T07:39:00.000-07:002009-09-21T09:32:21.006-07:002 Poems by Max Glassburg"Widows Say Goodbye"<br />
<br />
Dye, she pounds the pitiful bruise<br />
into a can of bruising, eye seething<br />
what eyes seethe, when even nice eye trickling falls<br />
<br />
she eats cool cans of dye—they thumb the night for her<br />
cool sins of too much widowing. Widows no more, widows gone.<br />
<br />
Think happy, like we ever think unhappy thorns,<br />
when we think unhappy roses.<br />
<br />
Then we dine in thorny dye on shirts, our<br />
colors blend in the flower shape, and our thorns are gone<br />
<br />
Aeneas gone, Aeneas over-done as final lines are never<br />
<br />
Widows gone, as widows all are eventually ours<br />
to say, this way I like a smooth feeling<br />
washing sentiment on clouds<br />
green pickles in a Jewish song,<br />
Passover moonlights enlighten drifting cowboy eyes<br />
<br />
for Jewish names and old damn toy-store peaks<br />
her friends say he’s always speaking<br />
for the dye, a fidget-freezing one… three commas in, he’s still speaking …<br />
for her again and eyes see them all eyes see them again<br />
<br />
For Jewish girls still make porno drinks<br />
for priests like us, and widows won’t let go widows<br />
in Aeneas frozen o’er wormwood dye, goodbye<br />
Aeneas good, goodbye.<br />
<br />
<br />
"Without Usura (after Ezra Pound)"<br />
<br />
Without usura, no stone cut hath a market,<br />
each effort spit in sand<br />
and delight in the spit will smear thine starving Christian child’s face—<br />
<br />
without usura<br />
<br />
still no paradise, still no ancient’s greed<br />
for fucking unfulfilled, all fucking around.<br />
Virgins all, incisions basted<br />
in fine stagnation, all harpes SPIT et luthes<br />
in the plague—<br />
<br />
without usura<br />
<br />
the heirs multiply in fashion<br />
for queens to swallow royal come<br />
for quickly, quickly summation come—<br />
<br />
without usura, CHRISTIAN man<br />
is a JEW man, is a stale JEW man<br />
like his flat bread, without haste,<br />
papyrus only, simple suckers—simple suckers—<br />
<br />
without usura, Shylock, why?<br />
<br />
Without usura—it’s all too clear<br />
the dwellings won’t move.<br />
Stone cutters trade for corn<br />
weavers eat whiskey meat on a birthday dish—<br />
<br />
WITHOUT USURA<br />
<br />
wool is rare.<br />
Sheep are thin in the field.<br />
A murrain muses on blessings, calves sip their manure—<br />
<br />
heroin stock is opium’s only cattle<br />
again the weaver’s prick their gorged bellies.<br />
<br />
A house divided stood, in usura<br />
Ban Ki Moon set without it, for free—<br />
Liberia killed my ma without usura, and I’ll vote for it there!<br />
Farts are all without usura.<br />
McDonald’s found a cheaper meat, sans usura.<br />
<br />
Dickens paid with usura.<br />
Adamo me!<br />
Adamo me!<br />
and Obama swiftly charged<br />
Adamo me!<br />
Adamo me!<br />
<br />
Qua vos es , illic mos Fio, with usura’s pinch—<br />
<br />
Usura slayeth gardens of filth, of Christian belonging<br />
with USEFUL sickness in the court, twisted broker tree vines eradiate <br />
symptom by symptom, everyone by everyone else,<br />
equal us, all for all or more.<br />
No friendship filth, none of that; the canker, please.<br />
<br />
Usura rusts us like machines, but we need what rusts.<br />
It slayeth sickness, what once was health.<br />
Sex is always, and usura is penetration—<br />
marriage avows to sanctify the rust, at least it sanctifies here.<br />
<br />
CONTRA NATURAM, in sin<br />
I guess… we live in sin.<br />
<br />
They have brought whores for Chicago<br />
moping prisoners in moving necessitation<br />
<br />
yes, I guess. We live at your behest.Connor Stratmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063932999148229286noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4592918546677772073.post-61830226974926247482009-09-21T07:35:00.001-07:002009-09-21T12:14:58.147-07:001 Poem by Charles Brooks III"Bebop"<br />
<br />
Bird and Dizzy bound out of the doghouse<br />
<br />
like fuming dialogue between enemies.<br />
<br />
Flaring from a short-lived brotherhood, <br />
<br />
captains of beatnik, Bird didn’t fly.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Outcasts, cotton became concerts<br />
<br />
where white people sat in the back <br />
<br />
looking over noble, black heads.<br />
<br />
Genuine men made hurricanes sing.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Latin America, Cuban licks succeeded in<br />
<br />
thickening a viscous music that keeps<br />
<br />
euphony thrust upward, never lonely,<br />
<br />
accepted on its own in blown cheeks and bent brass.Connor Stratmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063932999148229286noreply@blogger.com0