Hester L. Furey
Home from the mycelium wars,
I strip, bathe, wash every conceivable surface.
My life fits between the washer and the dryer.
I know I can’t go on like this.
When plants (and maybe animals – that is my theory)
begin to die, … view
Madeleine St. Romain
Dainty dishes for dainty diners that I can serve with pride
Croquettes and timbales with creamy things inside
Lettuce swimming with white sauce
Breadsticks tied with bows
By every napkin by every plate one pink and one white rose.
Cream of celery … view
Uncle Tim’s gristle and backwash beer bottles are next to a plate of oranges.
Glasses of leftover Kool-Aid on the coffee table,
and cloth napkins stained with regurgitated s’mores.
The air is a hot mayonnaise shower.
I sit on a vinyl armchair;
I … view
I know where my food comes from —
I can trace its components
back to the amino acids,
to the make
and the model
and the manufacturer,
back to the creators and the contributors —
and I can reference every license,
Atlanta Poets Group
anus mirabilis (excerpt from “arse poetica”)
Please click on the link:
anus mirabilis-arse poetica excerpt
the gash poor of really sick
This, then it be the disgrunt or ornamented Dis gust,
it’s a wind for starve a shun, partially
skin-tucked … view
It was a campaign like no other,
it was a campaign like all others,
to win the marvel of my grandmother,
during an easy, sultry summer.
My mother stood, watching this five year old
run down the limestone-paved Ash Street
into his Nonny’s … view
Use every idle moment,
your sleeping and waking thoughts.
Imagine what it will be like.
Rehearse it in your mind.
Even when it’s behind your eyes,
don’t look away.
Breathe deeply with your gut.
Silent your heart with hate.
Hold … view
the tumor mysteriously appears,
an uninvited guest in the manor
of the skull.
it blends among the residents, invisibly
stretching into the inner tissue,
forming its own passageways, as
though it were natural, and
and that’s when the
firelike headaches … view
i will never run on flat feet
Anna Karina is kissing some boy.
colors tint and
all throughout I hear the sounds of typing.
strips of transparent film
and collapsing dialog expose
the absence of the director.
feeling the shock of the air.
cardigans—fuzzy orange … view
(with respect to Arturo Giovannitti)
Our father the outlaw justice,
the chosen bad seed —
Mitch changed our lives,
that night he broke out of jail
in a county so impoverished
it used an old rail car
with a brand new fancy lock.