Joel Chace

from Mouth Pieces

 

Mouth enters  —  well, hops, really  —

into the academy.

Long, lonely  —  well, empty,

really  —  corridors.  Silence in

those hallways.  Two ears hear

another silence:  of ones who

don’t wish to be found, to be

found out.

The great hall is ornate,

unpeopled, terribly hushed.

Hand holds an unshelved  book that

won’t open.  One after

another, books that won’t open.

Andrew Brenza

Poem Titled II

vergent snow
and so many
unconditional
stars that it is no
place but ghost-
herd to think I’m
faking this my
shadow art on
a wave of harrow
so a bull it’s sleeping
I imagine by a vineyard
in Spanish grain
though lightning dims
its fringe of flowers
is it cosmos you
wonder is it pain

Joseph Harrington

[sound a word]

sound a word
like organdy
waves

mottles
compass, stays
sudden

tree blooms,
secret water
ouzel woes

dingy doing
emotional thumbs
plus la change

of yearly
agues the wind
a stampede

argues an augury
bell-bye, impedes
involute

stamens, thrashers
scrape humus than
scraper taking

human nouns:
poignant after-image
copies

of copies
au bout de
abouts

Heath Brougher

Paper People

I am boiling away [we
are all one]

I am piebald
in the face

sludges of soft dirty meat
pressed through chain-linked fences

the currency of the currency
is concurrently concurrent
with the altitude of the sun
the attitude of the people

all roiling riot gear ready to go

you dig a hole in the water

you blacken your hands.

Eileen Tabios

Bit Coin Bling

Lexus engineers—Life defined as credit card—
A glimpse of eternity in black obsidian—
Financial advisors attuned to the good—

A silver platter forgotten to tarnish the beach:
a platter serving sunlight—The artist traded identity
for a Tiffany brand—Las Vegas invites you home

with The Topless, The Wet, The White: Mandalay Bay!
Shoes subject to credit approval—Ford defining
“Escape”: blowing by a mountain-high 18-wheeler

through 200 horsepower V8—Microsoft become Mom
snooping on our passions—Diamond traders advocate
feminism: Women of the World! Buy Your Own!

W Hotel promises to balance “style” and “soul”—
Tequila Corazon de Agave alchemized from the heart
of blue agave bred in the rich, red soil of the “Highlands”

in Arandas, Jalisco, Mexico—The luxury of appointments;
the privilege of appointments—The classic contents of
the Filipino Balikbayan Box:

Dove soap
L’Oreal shampoo
Colgate (“has to be Colgate, not Crest”) toothpaste
SPAM corned beef
Set of Encyclopedia Brittanica from the 1970s
Nestle’s Quick chocolate
Folger’s (nowadays, Walmart house brand) coffee
Snickers
M&Ms
Irish Spring soap
Libby’s corned beef
Costco Vitamin B-12
See’s chocolates
Back issues of Conde Nast Traveler, The New Yorker, Marie Claire, Entertainment Weekly, Newsweek, Glamour
Oil of Olay lotion
Almay lotion
Ziploc plastic bags
Nutella
Reynolds aluminum foil and saran wrap
Campbell’s soups
Nine West and Liz Claiborne purses (“from factory outlets”)
Parker pens with refills
Osh Kosh playsuit
Baby Gap, Old Navy and Fisher Price onesies
Bayer aspirin
Carnation instant creamer
Nail polish: “L’Oreal for family, Maybelline or Wet n Wild for the servants”
Shampoo: “Pantene for family, Suave for neighbors”

Gifts differentiated among recipients—a matron’s pain
-staking definitions of servants versus those served—
Giftbox as the gift—Bling bling! Kaching!—A glimpse—

Jeff Harrison

The Mortal Enemies of Calculation

Oceanography Fetus,
admit bouquets to the effigy party

Saloon Redefinition,
be a dapper knapsack… dapper knapsacker

Flowerpot Infighting,
only authenticate the forgettable

Mnemonic Pagination,
your bookshelves are frail
rattlesnake them,
rattlesnake them all

Radio-sighting Conundrum,
mechanically bemoan that… wait…
combine Dionysus with hoarding badgers,
then mechanically bemoan that combination

Mark Young

The theory of dyadic rings

A buried UFO slowly
turns my Digital Pen
into a 7-track down-
load of a Wolfmother

album, but this counts
for nothing when it’s
sunny in South London
& the streets are full

of highly trained Re-
naissance musicians
whose white linen suits
& owlish spectacles

add old-world warmth
& charm to a great
place to stop thinking

about digital identity.

 

 

 

storyboard #1

Black & white movies. The March of Time. Backwards. dubesoR. Snow globes down the stairs, the Odessa Steps. Everything intercut, reality / invention. Once again I walk down those ornate baroque corridors, knowing I know nothing of Hiroshima.

Always in black & white. No room for scenic shots. None of those except perhaps as signposts. Otherwise. Film noir.

Color. Occasionally. Kurosawa’s The Ransom. One scene only. In which.

Do I pay the ransom? Do I let the color in?

Mark Russell

Music: Number Five

Some stories are tagged with photos of juveniles,
their animals, their yellow images, Tom and Dick,
and preposterous townsfolk who venerate Canada,
though not during March, nor in meetings
of Gamblers Anonymous, as the workers have said.

So, no more information about the river is necessary.
Regarding its vexed course, nobody is in agreement
except for the existence, somewhere down there,
of the underworld, its dry rats, its vestibules,
the blindfolded walks that guide you to the edge.

Michael S. Hennessey

NO CONTROL

over the speed of sound
our internal monologue or the
rate of attrition we face
the number of footsteps between
your door to mine or
when we’ll meet again

 

 

A SIMPLE FORMALITY

misplaced faith is not enough
to stop the leaking faucets
or reverse past mistakes — your
blushing won’t fade any faster
words come from the chest
and die in midair

 

 

MINUS MINUS

minus the collarbone, a wish
littoral zone lost through repetition
an urgent message lost in
waves of radio static / interference
on the payphone line foretells
an unwelcome visitor’s arrival

 

 

START HERE

there is not enough sleep
or rather a solarized dreamscape
better than the waking world
I anticipate the alarm and
silence it, somewhere keys crash
out of empty pockets

 

 

WHEN THE WAR IS OVER

antennas still bristle the landscape
dogs growl in troubled sleep
at imagined threats — no reason
to jump at every noise
or for bones once broken,
now healed, to ache

 

 

FORTITUDE: A SIGNAL

a disconnection resets the circuit
through timbral shift and ultraviolet
flash — attention spent and spanned
I’ve maintained this vigil for
three weeks — no end approaching
ask me next year

Jenn McCreary

The abyss has its own rewards
for Steve Farmer

I.
For each four-leaf clover
a six-legged frog

For each lickable fury
a feral angel

For each flaming marshmallow
a runaway shopping cart

For each scribbled treasure map
a secret test

For each naked promise
a silkworm intervention

Cellos & snakes at the heart
of every cool mistake

 

 

 

II.
Use this as a compass

Use this for the ritual

Use this for keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or
loss, & chant: pain, begone, I will have no more of thee

Use this bastard wing folded behind your back, your finely tuned
clavicle, your hair as lasso or noose

Use this splitting image, these words (fallen from my mouth), this
door (formerly a window)

Use all our girlhood superstition about scoliosis, hexes, poxes &
penitence

 

 

 

III.
To believe but only sometimes

To unearth a more useful abyss

To seek prophetic messages in the warm glow of yesterday’s shock

To navigate the inevitable underworld with pure conviction

To translate fear into possibility

To change the taste of sleep

 

 

 

IV.
Use quiet awe

Use your tongue, the strongest muscle
in your body

Use coffee, candy, secret stale cigarettes hidden
in the back of the medicine cabinet

Use the weight of your gaze, the curve of your
spine, the return of your voice

Use all of this as protection from hegemony
& cultural appropriation

Use glitter & guile to disguise your despair

 

 

 

V.
For each deathless beauty
a noble failure

For each lesser enchantment
a graceful détente

For each responsive machine
a choreographed catastrophe

For each psychosexual apocalypse
a disruption contingency

For each tedious evil
a sudden deliverance

Delight & delirium in the rubber room
of every season in hell

Thomas Snarsky

proemial relation #1

here are the upcoming
flowers, burgeoning
forth like the capital
letters that autocorrect
keeps putting at the
beginning of these lines

 

 

 

 

Obliquity

As method. As broken
Bread. As thin line. As
Diatribe. As moment.
Scenario. Nightmare-
Free zone. Sordid wish-
Bone. Mild head throne.
Our bilateral love owns
Too many raincoats.

Joel Chace

stupid ducks

 

even they matter  —

string theory is older now  —

her eyes light the room

 

 

 

 

infinite drop kick  —

so unapologetic  —

just one shop open

 

 

 

 

ceremony riff  —

degree of abandonment  —

miraculous road

 

 

 

 

until our murders  —

eight nickels in his sock drawer–

a calling off off

 

 

 

 

 

unseated, for fun  —

drove to the document dump  —

ninety desks in rows

 

 

 

 

 

mourning was let in  —

first off, she ruined each bow  —

busy with their aunts

 

 

 

 

concentrated arms  —

stupid ducks would not frighten  —

odd way to count them

 

Mark Lamoureux

LACHRYMARY OF THE SORROWS

Went with the jobbers
in mayonnaise, rugged
& welding circuits
for skort cutters. Mercury
Cougar mission
to the H.A.M. radio
meetup. Bellerophon
so what; a bauble
in the maw
of a pewter dragon,
putz is not even a madrigal
smoke bomb assistant.
Missal command of
a hard green fake granny
smith, tiny flakes
of rotten texts suspended
in orange Jell-O cichlid
heirloom. A medicine bag
for punks. Forgotten
space capsule filled
with mulch, terracotta
lachrymary for
hens & chickens, succulent,
easy on the eyes. Rococo
raccoon shaman
in the Shakespeare
garden. That’s for forgetting.
Last time I will buy
a ticket for that guy, snakes
don’t grow on trees.

John Lowther

from 555

The phobic rests before the veil and wonders what’s behind it so as to
continue to ignore what he knows not to have seen, which is
nothing.
The bottom line is that the human species has to realize the human body
is really just a cheap suitcase.
It’s like you’re reaching a critical mass.
The first human who hurled an insult instead of a stone was the founder of
civilization.

If you can’t spot the sucker in your first half hour at the table, then you are
the sucker.

The dispossessed of history are not guided by method but by madness.

Eileen Tabios

THE AWAKENING

[1]
I forgot the mysterious C___ who slipped syphilis to Vincent Van Gogh—she was a refugee from something unknown thus only imaginable by us: a world of people with hacked-off hands, thus, no paintings to criticize or admire…. I forgot how to perceive the shift of stars without feeling them fade or fall…. I forgot how to feel the Milky Way expand simply because, upon my waist, you placed your palm…. I forgot Tiziano Vecelli’s kindness—refusing to discriminate between daughters, he gave the illegitimate Emilia the same dowry of 700 ducats bestowed upon the legitimate Lavinia…. I forgot when one of a love-making couple is blindfolded, one is a lover and the other a canvas, page, smoke …. I forgot the alley of your city where I stood as a statue frozen by unrequited longing…. I forgot Auguste Rodin drawing women while they took their “melancholy pleasure” in front of him…. I forgot Jackson Pollock teaching the harmony of feelings in riot…. I forgot Arthur Rimbaud who said the bears are dancing but what we had wanted to do was move the stars to pity…. I forgot Pierre-Auguste Renoir who loved the girls of Les Halles for letting their breasts sing soprano above their bodices…. I forgot Paul Cezanne painting furniture to escape naked women about whom, he felt, “One has to be on the defensive.”

[2]
I forgot the mysterious C___ who slipped syphilis to Vincent Van Gogh—she was a refugee from something unknown thus only imaginable by us: a world of people with hacked-off hands, thus, no paintings to criticize or admire…. I forgot how to feel the Milky Way expand simply because, upon my waist, you placed your palm…. I forgot the sense of “walking upon a cloud”—the “calm” that overcame William Carlos William upon hearing the minister bestow a benediction: “May the peace of God which passeth all understanding be and abide with you now and forever more. Amen”…. I forgot Auguste Rodin drawing women while they took their “melancholy pleasure” in front of him…. I forgot Jackson Pollock teaching the harmony of feelings in riot…. I forgot romancing the stars to deflect the mundane, even pre-torture rendition…. I forgot Pierre-Auguste Renoir who loved the girls of Les Halles for letting their breasts sing soprano above their bodices…. I forgot Degas’ great joy at glimpsing through an open doorway a beautiful an anguished woman at her bath…. I forgot Dr. Williams fell in love with a young negress lying stripped on a dissecting table.

[3]
I forgot Michelangelo on his back servicing a syphilitic Christian— for euphemism, cite him  instead painting the Sistine Chapel for Pope Julius II…. I forgot Leonardo Da Vinci dissecting criminals who died with hard-ons to demonstrate the penis is not inflated by the retention of wind…. I forgot Tiziano Vecelli’s kindness—refusing to discriminate between daughters, he gave the illegitimate Emilia the same dowry of 700 ducats bestowed upon the legitimate Lavinia…. I forgot Titian’s prowess: he painted nudes with their eyes open to stare back at you as your eyes memorized powdered their flesh…. I forgot the thief (in Li-Young Lee’s favorite haiku) who stopped in the dangerous night to sing to the beauty of the hovering moon…. I forgot romancing the stars to deflect the mundane, even pre-torture rendition…. I forgot Pierre-Auguste Renoir who loved the girls of Les Halles for letting their breasts sing  soprano above their bodices…. I forgot Paul Cezanne painting furniture to escape naked women about whom, he felt, “One has to be on the defensive”…. I forgot Degas’ great joy at glimpsing through an open doorway a beautiful an anguished woman at her bath.

[4]
I forgot Titian’s prowess: he painted nudes with their eyes open to stare back at you as your eyes memorized powdered their flesh…. I forgot the thief (in Li-Young Lee’s favorite haiku) who stopped in the dangerous night to sing to the beauty of the hovering moon…. I forgot Auguste Rodin drawing women while they took their “melancholy pleasure” in front of him…. I forgot mistaking reproductions for what they copy…. I forgot the anguish of knowledge…. I forgot Jackson Pollock teaching the harmony of feelings in riot…. I forgot Arthur Rimbaud who said the bears are dancing but what we had wanted to do was move the stars to pity…. I forgot Paul Cezanne painting furniture to escape naked women about whom, he felt, “One has to be on the defensive”…. I forgot Degas’ great joy at glimpsing through an open doorway a beautiful an anguished woman at her bath.

[5]
I forgot the mysterious C___ who slipped syphilis to Vincent Van Gogh—she was a refugee from something unknown thus only imaginable by us: a world of people with hacked-off hands, thus, no paintings to criticize or admire…. I forgot how to perceive the shift of stars without feeling them fade or fall…. I forgot Michelangelo on his back servicing a syphilitic Christian— for euphemism, cite him instead painting the Sistine Chapel for Pope Julius II…. I forgot how to feel the Milky Way expand simply because, upon my waist, you placed your palm…. I forgot scientists becoming radical to pursue the ecstasy of Truth…. I forgot Tiziano Vecelli’s kindness—refusing to discriminate between daughters, he gave the illegitimate Emilia the same dowry of 700 ducats bestowed upon the legitimate Lavinia…. I forgot when one of a love-making couple is blindfolded, one is a lover and the other a canvas, page, smoke …. I forgot how to perceive with tenderness…. I forgot the alley of your city where I stood as a statue frozen by unrequited longing…. I forgot Auguste Rodin drawing women while they took their “melancholy pleasure” in front of him.

[6]
I forgot Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni possessed incomparable draftsmanship except as regards breasts, though he was weaned by a daughter and wife of stone masons…. I forgot Michelangelo on his back servicing a syphilitic Christian— for euphemism, cite him instead painting the Sistine Chapel for Pope Julius II…. I forgot how to feel the Milky Way expand simply because, upon my waist, you placed your palm…. I forgot Leonardo Da Vinci dissecting criminals who died with hard-ons to demonstrate the penis is not inflated by the retention of wind…. I forgot Titian’s prowess: he painted nudes with their eyes open to stare back at you as your eyes memorized powdered their flesh…. I forgot how to perceive with tenderness…. I forgot the alley of your city where I stood as a statue frozen by unrequited longing…. I forgot the sense of “walking upon a cloud”—the “calm” that overcame William Carlos William upon hearing the minister bestow a benediction: “May the peace of God which passeth all understanding be and abide with you now and forever more. Amen”…. I forgot the anguish of knowledge…. I forgot Jackson Pollock teaching the harmony of feelings in riot…. I forgot Pierre-Auguste Renoir who loved the girls of Les Halles for letting their breasts sing soprano above their bodices.

[7]
I forgot how to perceive the shift of stars without feeling them fade or fall…. I forgot Michelangelo on his back servicing a syphilitic Christian— for euphemism, cite him instead painting the Sistine Chapel for Pope Julius II…. I forgot Leonardo Da Vinci dissecting criminals who died with hard-ons to demonstrate the penis is not inflated by the retention of wind…. I forgot scientists becoming radical to pursue the ecstasy of Truth…. I forgot when one of a love-making couple is blindfolded, one is a lover and the other a canvas, page, smoke …. I forgot the alley of your city where I stood as a statue frozen by unrequited longing…. I forgot the anguish of knowledge…. I forgot romancing the stars to deflect the mundane, even pre-torture rendition…. I forgot Pierre-Auguste Renoir who loved the girls of Les Halles for letting their breasts sing soprano above their bodices…. I forgot—as did everyone else in the universe—the name of Georges Seurat’s mistress: Madeleine Knobloch.

[8]
I forgot how to perceive the shift of stars without feeling them fade or fall…. I forgot Titian’s prowess: he painted nudes with their eyes open to stare back at you as your eyes memorized powdered their flesh…. I forgot when one of a love-making couple is blindfolded, one is a lover and the other a canvas, page, smoke…. I forgot how to perceive with tenderness…. I forgot the sense of “walking upon a cloud”—the “calm” that overcame William Carlos William upon hearing the minister bestow a benediction: “May the peace of God which passeth all understanding be and abide with you now and forever more. Amen”…. I forgot Auguste Rodin drawing women while they took their “melancholy pleasure” in front of him…. I forgot Arthur Rimbaud who said the bears are dancing but what we had wanted to do was move the stars to pity…. I forgot Pierre-Auguste Renoir who loved the girls of Les Halles for letting their breasts sing soprano above their bodices.

Marcia Arrieta

permeable invention

entrance into

lake isle cloud

the mariner’s manual

the moon’s armor




no hesitation

circumstance
the wave

or

the wing
of a monarch





above the rainforest

take the word triumphant
& carve it in a cloud

the chandelier
a comment

hermetic
subterranean blues

Melissa Severin

This is alchemy–
syllables of name, heat and Kevlar, linear time. I know
the sorrowful mysteries need an excuse

to interrupt the sound of 3D printing. Lull fit
for a conversational juggernaut. What’s your ritual?
What’s my ritual?

Auto-tuned longing has been done.
As has eyebrowless portraiture.
Just now I thought all the music stopped but

it’s the lake gone lead. Meaning
we can all leave the house
without mascara. I am careful

with pedestrians—turning the corner is a wilderness.
There are always secrets.
Transmutations.

What type of close do you need today?




Gardening, not architecture

We are dirt and can’t keep long nails clean
when ringing the morning bells.

Soil curved in cuticles maps out of reach places. Bury me
in a forged thing—a mallet to the body skirt. Strike

the belt. I want my lips to bleed out
sound as if the beat could plant a seed

under the sternum—make my heart green
opal splintering with vibration.

Philip Byron Oakes

Can and Can’t

Night’s quorum of stillness.
Ratcheting pensive playing
possum to a draw. Whisper
dancing tandem with the
dark. Rumpling ethereal
quilt making room from
much of nothing. More of
the less said bettering itself
in shadow. Stooping to
console the moment’s fade
to midnight’s blue repose.
Silt of experience lending
weight holding ground to
its promise. The pitch to
its forgery of light lifting
veils. Mining phenomenal
density for depth beneath
the touchy-feely push to
exist.

Jeff Harrison

Blue Throats

kitty the wood
cling the zero top
carnival-smooth reading
neither first is the yawn ,
nor the second, itself a
stretching floating, what’s
slow isn’t plankton after all
but it’s battered until bones blue
and jet’s shade, a night carousel

cunning are
the winks most pushed and loosened
they’d sleep some otherwise
their disease leaves something fresh

Virginia, your donkey-boring head
is thinking elbows again
you should be thinking of
countering my breath with blue throats
why this strange death – all relations
jeweled for the scoring? a gesture imperiled?

whooped the bee defiance flaring…
briefly the jeweler recovers gold
the stick world’s there
stick are her funeral soldiers
paraded before cheated pines

it took some time,
but winged insects have
a new sly unhappiness:
screen, score,
cranium,
noon, & see:
winks

no, not winks under the ceiling, Virginia
below the ceiling are silver bees
it took the jeweler days to make them
road (dark) map affection, could you dare
Virginia’s gauntness?

John Lowther

We need to acknowledge and honor that tension, and the connection that that tension is a part of.
We hope to bring hir here.
We are all brothers under the skin — and I, for one, would be willing to skin humanity to prove it.
We create oppositions and conflicts, and we can transcend them.
We glance from screen to screen.
We have to completely explain the possibility of something new in an old world.
We’re snowed in with only two condoms.
We fought all the time but I nearly put a lily in his hand that night.
We get the world we deserve.