Friday, September 27, 2013

"a syllogism," by Mary Kasimor (forthcoming in issue 23)

withOUT sound there
IS no story
2:00 a.m. a SOURED
apple moon One note

under THE bed
a COFfeE table
book about canARIES

a head ACHE an appointment
AN INfection

it must BE dark
outside no MOON in
my mouth tasting HUNG
over NO car
on the street OUTside

silence A BOx of
kleenEX we are
in THIS world

by our SELVES

WITH infinite deTAILS

Friday, September 20, 2013

"Who is Jonathan Richman?" by Dennis James Sweeney (forthcoming in issue 23)

Snow shoe tattoos on snow ridge. White invisible lives in imprint, breaks in empty make the empty. It’s soft. Sing light, light tread disappear. Invisible fill, cold feel on the hand. Empty’s full. Where is air.

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

“{marginalia} the definition of water,” by Valerie Witte (forthcoming in issue 22)

the edge of clarity / charming at times, when
mixed with dirt forms mud / crystals / total cubic

feet / a mitigation estimate / what it takes
to resolve a triangular entanglement / dissolve

a small calm / what I mean is how learning
to float one averts drowning / a question

of liability once disaster is confirmed
the source of blame is multiple / the difference

between what we want / and expect, at least
I'm not surprised / the beginning of a slow

flood is moisture bleeding / into or; am I bleeding
out / I was a clearing / an excess of pillows

Saturday, May 4, 2013

“Poem,” by John Myers (forthcoming in issue 22)

Because I was too shy the marquee casts me as the bad guy.

In its limited vocabulary the sun’s weird voice.

Marigolds keep bugs out of the garden.

A sunshine mangers your hair.

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

“Tour,” by John Myers (forthcoming in issue 22)

Peals and green sheep, their muzzles
smelling like perfect acorns
all caught in the gel air like
thirds in Bach. Is it pleasure
that keeps a city together?
I’m reading through pages of
old fortunes, validity
is subjective as our words
for weather. My chaise lounge won’t
fit through our new door, newspapers
will but they’d rather pile against
one another like round faces.
When I saw how awesome your
picture of Bermuda grass
was I knew we were moths,
exclamation-ready, and
that we’d need to come up with
another sign for waiting.
On the street, including bluebirds
my other pleasures defer. Overheard
boys describe new boyfriends to
one another. Adjectives
like to be grounded somehow,
like power lifters. The verb
feels better to me today,
grammar like a mobile made
of it or one made of walking.
A linked set of arms requires
two people and what does collage
require? Two sitting calmly.
Blank means everything. Plural
likenesses, some rain which passes
wherever early afternoon
crosses the meadow. The heightening
effect of travel, its scalene
uncertainty. Again into
verticality I begin
to unearth my show, private
and strong as a spine.
If I were wearing the sky like a bathing suit
this lip like the pink lip of a shell is glossy as.