February 2012
12 posts
When I dream of a war
by Neesa Sonoquie
What I am saying is that my mind is eucalyptus
trees on a beach while I am sleeping through
another life. When I wake up crying invisible tears
I can tell you there are children in them. I know
this sounds sentimental, but frilly pink frosting on a cake
is still part of the cake. These kinds of tears
come from an umbilical pool of silver cords,
the genesis of my gut’s...
Cur.tain
by Zachary Hamilton
i. We’ve seen armchairs yarned in factories as they take away great grandmother with cancer of the lungs, a string of long fluid woven into her assembly apt for a tapestry, a long room that is woven of her memorized thread of choice. A Volta television swamp floats until breath emerges gentleman like, heated from its length of rope nerve. Six looping pythons in one belt...
February Bloomer
It’s been raining and it hasn’t.
Rows of grasses
glow green,
glow with health so they look unnatural.
The glowing grass gives me a fright,
the only way to say
a long i of f up my spine.
I lock my bike, but
if someone really wants it
they can get it. Going inside,
two Camilla blooms,
gaudy and forlorn as Mme. Butterfly,
snag my eyes.
Camilla is a February bloomer,
the earliest bloomer, I hear...
Fourteen
After Raoul Schrott The sound of running ˙ upheaving of gravel˙
upwind he asks Where are you hiding ˙ the leaves are old˙
like winter at my feet ˙ falling ˙ though I am far away ˙
he asks˙ Where have you gone ˙ I must stay ˙ falling ˙ in
this place before he
finds me ˙ and says to me again ˙ his hand on
my head again ˙ That’s a good girl ˙ in this thorn-bush ˙
...
Aubade
After Raoul Schrott
Dark when you came ˙ sky the shade of dying
trees ˙ your voice in the forest was the color of
melting pewter ˙ heavy with impurities ˙ it tasted of
minerals ˙ and when sunrise came
it was upon us like a stream of breaking rocks
˙ or like a vein of newmade silver deep within the
planet’s iron core ˙ our lives
have been quick passages of toiling and
silence all...
The Dilemma As Established By Boltzmann
Why have meteorologists such difficulty in predicting the weather with any certainty? —Henri Poincaré He got himself fired for a dream today, or was he dream fired? Heat’s out now, anyway. And deadweight fear, and grams of hope? Scattered both from all the open doors to rust, bad breath, cold— and no sunrise behind this morning’s...
The Way Across Water Is Under River
by Shaun McGillis Three dogs barked. A field of yellow lilies trembled in a breeze. The bridge settled in silt at the bottom of the Sandy River.
There will be more, I am sure.
The way a woman in the department store ran
her fingertips over each garment hanging from the children’s clearance rack
...
January 2012
10 posts
Tonguing My Tumblr Dashboard
by Chelsea Rebekah Grimmer Kachman
Exquisite: tonguing
tongue- ing
ton-
ging
ton- gue- in- g
***
*Angels: we
have
...
from The World Encyclopedia of Ideophones
by Stacey Tran
ch’izh — (Navajo) the rustling of dry leaves
A thicket of birds frightened in the night, but then what of the wings? Tongues by day wrestle with the dry leaves each are left with to digress into verse; bustling, fussing, prattling; the skin moves about in fine linens, there is the skin beneath, much less calm than what appears; a softer crashing; a gathering of fragments of last...
Of Shells
by Stacey Tran
As scale of balance. As object hollowed, emptied of its mass.
As framework, mere externality without substance; as in the outer part.
Received unto windows as indecent allusion; as glass in its two halves.
As if edifice or fabric whose interior, removed is now merely an arc. As skeletal or concessive to such regression. Remains of a ship once carved and filled. As in building...
Engineers are close to trapping a rainbow. How do...
by Neesa Sonoquie
All of these hours and the ice sheets melting into soup,
the world now one-third plastic, beach sand like Beta and Atari,
phantom erections, phantom voices, a 2000 year-old ghost forest
uncovered by rough seas. There is an unusual swarm
of tsunamis fucking the seafloor stirring violet light
into the atmosphere, and scientists are working on a new banana.
Do we really need...
Sentence I
by Lydia Ship
Each member of my family was born as a page in a book. All of the words had to form a relevant artistic whole, so we spent the minutes of our days examining each word against others in the book. Then we discovered that the book already existed, and so we examined our pages against the pages of the existing book to make a perfect copy. We had to live as those existing...
The Other Part of Time
by Lydia Ship
My family made a bigger family to seek out the purest sighting. We tried to grow our family to as many members as possible, and we met in each other’s houses every night. We built a building and made maps. We posted the maps everywhere on the walls of the building. By then many families were our families, and we had to give them instructions they could use to...
Fortune
by Lydia Ship
Our god created a flower so that we would seek it; he sent us off in hiding; he arranged all manner of elaborate ways to visit us; he sometimes turned us into animals. He controlled the rain. We could have anything we wanted, except our lives. He could take them away or change them at any minute. We could become springs, or goats, or castaways on an island. He would strike...
Treasure Hunters
by Lydia Ship
We were looking for wisdom and saved up for wisdom detectors to use much like treasure hunters moving in the cadence of the blind on stillborn beaches. Then we had to save up for time. When we got the time, we frittered it away on petty things rather than using the wisdom detectors for wisdom. Sometimes we used the wisdom detectors to detect fancy food. Sometimes...
November 2011
8 posts
October 2011
10 posts
September 2011
15 posts
