July 17, 2019

Shawn Anto: The Tests of Life

Shawn Anto:  The Tests of Life

Moka Pot I used to play these games lungs became a trap for darkness.                                                                                         I used to hold my breath waiting for the moka pot spurting alive.   Suffocate negative lines over a world day by day hoping pot by pot.   These simple and harmless tendencies start off as one motion an egg uncracked, porcelain.   One must suspect harmless become harmful in throat breathe one-two, one-two.   A moka pot bubbling over it is the inside that matters hi-jack cells, vibrating.   Endless dream, endless violent end not so, not-so I promise I hold my breath, welcome it, attachment. Sculpture of Incision       stare red eyes down, under a shattered crown, we collapse     everything around golden & memory particles dispersing like tired eyes of their fear.   a choice of no in…

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July 10, 2019

John McKernan: A Deeper Look

John McKernan: A Deeper Look

MIDNIGHT PHONE CALLS FROM MY ALIAS  Quit pretending you are still a teenager   That girl at Wal-Mart keeps asking about you  Have you written your obituary yet?   Which of President Kennedy’s sluts did you like best?  I’m not frightened    Are you?   Where have you been hiding?  Making any money selling cheap fireworks?   Why don’t you visit me anymore?  Sure   Go ahead    Enlist in the Marine Corps   Here are some verbs to help you out    Crawl       Slither   Sneak   Snivel   Grovel  Let me tell you something you need to know   You want a crate of chocolate chip cookies?  Buddha walked through the door showing us the new    tattoos   His entire body a geranium covered        in blue and green and black and yellow and red  What would it take to make you speechless?   A maniac’s kitchen knife to cut out your tongue DIAMONDS OF SWEAT  Drop to the dry ground  Tiny explosions of dust  A large serving of memory please  In a chilled wine glass  With slivers of yesterday   I always…

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June 17, 2019

Kyla Houbolt: A Natural Poetic Eye

Kyla Houbolt: A Natural Poetic Eye

What the Bears Do  If this is a dream I will open the eyes of my eyes before life kills us all.  I want to see what the bears do. I open the ears of my ears when there is a dear hum  or sound of grinding  that burns. The bears  hear it too. The bears   are not dancing. They may surround us with their large smell  of hot fur or drop to the ground, lope off into woods we did not know were there until  the bears claimed them.  We have received from the bears something of fur of the woods of knowing in our blood but what about  when blood is gone?  What then?  Then I will wait for the tiger  sure to come. I am not prey. I will follow  and not be mazed by that hungry  chthonic gaze.  It may be that any death should feed somebody, but in my family we burn our dead.  Journey For a Monday  Monday and suddenly I feel an intense longing for the desert….

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