Tag Archives: Prose Poetry

Memorable Stuff I Read This Week Summer grass aches and whispers. It wants something; it calls and sings; it poursout wishes to the overhead stars. — Carl Sandburg / “Summer Grass” They know, from the past few years of massively … Continue reading →

Curanga Pie Blues I was conceived in the cold heatOf the late stage Anthropocene. My mother’s milk was curanga pie. I am a born again pleonasm—Aphasic—ecstatic in static,Mendicant in white noise. I am obscenely petulant,Vaguely touched,Piqued & hotWith fleas. EndlessNot. … Continue reading →

in the unlikely event there is something louder than your heartit supersedes the asperity of your bones a wind forced through an aperture moansit sounds like a death rattle, an agonal breath this which your mind fastens uponwill always remain … Continue reading →

My darkest numbness is indelibly embodied in the soft-voiced teenaged longing brilliantly off-key and abstemious. We imbibed nothing. We believed in nothing but being straight-edge. You wrought fascinating rants on anti-fascism — bombs of resolute intelligence both — a reward … Continue reading →

The Queenie Meets Whit Frictions The Queenie declaims that feculence has nothing to do in this affair. She says: “I was bequeathed a third rate hand me down in consignment and inquisitiveness—a loan from dog. I’ve got the scrabble tiles … Continue reading →

The fallen illusion is really three collusions with a dash of disbelief in life’s recursive farrago. This is the greatest scrounger adaptation of workroom tankards — thanks to kidney chars and sharp assemblies — it’s all dark entries. A crude … Continue reading →

excessive levity markets are draftedinto stock fists on actual horseback see ya in alaska now that 90 degree daysare common + we float away on glacier melt wildfire smoke flood tornado broadapplications of anthropogenic love for ma earth physical comedy … Continue reading →

Memorable Stuff I Read This Week This is what it comes down to:Me on a park bench, always writing,This is what it comes down to. — Ada Limón / “Little Day” Where to begin? Perhaps with a good tip: never … Continue reading →

Overheard After Obsequies Yes, I was lonely. But now I think things will improve… I woke up with eyes on my hands—double vision in continuous lap dissolve. I’m looking at the eyes on my hands as they look back at … Continue reading →

dust-up at the sewers a jack-in-the-box of new perspectivesready and able to spew prose capes and clangthe punchbowl pronounswe prefer bamboo soloiststo instant hobble confederates call the department of vital fracturessend for the ensign of contested stuntswe got an election … Continue reading →