Tuesday, May 28, 2019

Entangled Strides From Ghosts by Will Alexander



The Occident, aligned by retrocausal psychic debris, created through campaigns of slaughter and mental mis-direction has arrived at its intrinsic denouement, as a cunning she-wolf looking into superimposed directions of blankness face to face with its own moral evaporation, unable to kindle its own presence and lift its force into the future. Unbeknownst to itself it has regressed to inflamed fragmentation solemnly nourished by exponential tribulation and tenacious spillage from protracted global thievery. This circumstance can in no way simply embrangle itself to basic ideological function, or to didactic wavelength burning with psycho-physical alteration. 

All of the above subtended by European aegis, by its crudely inflamed psychic-superimposition via argumentative dominance, with the human collective thought of as abstraction squared according to partially elevated debris. Our day to day existence maniacally maimed by carnivorous toxins, sired by trans-generational neurological decay. The climate akin to sand blown fissioning, as if we were hyper-dimensional camels who carry loads and now perish from thirst. We persist as a populace general and scattered, as a maimed institutional flock marred by uranium spotting, weary, constrained to remain unnaturally condemned for that which amounts to the unceasing. Because the half-life of uranium supersedes the future life of the Sun, we remain condemned in spite of the glittering effect of partial convenience. The latter, remaining as our daily opiate, as our lateral obfuscation where our transcendent property remains obscured to such a degree, that the individual can only cast his or her image into a mirror of numbers, so that it reflects as a distorted form of cobalt, or a referential ray curiously bent as if the general psychic image had been bent not unlike rays from poisoned tantalum. 

A disfigured species bent on carrying it's general misuse onto planes that exist as Proxima B. The latter condition is not the honest silhouette of a Bedouin trading partner searching for wares in exchange for perfect properties from salt. Humanity has become a hyper-ventilated species haunted by every geological outcropping, by every dazed and increasing shadow that ruminates via inversion. This becomes a distorted lens by which the cells now focus so that the gullies of being now hallucinate as the eye that forms demonic guidance. The collective mind now functions within a tornado of wrath embellished by hyper-dimensional goiters, that can be called nothing other than dysfunctional grammar, nothing other than the entangled strides imprinted from ghosts. 

As ghosts, we circle the abyss and only assuage our minds with a repetitive form of calculation that can only let us rest at a former plane of haunting. Perhaps, 1953, or 1976, when damage was not so blatantly conflated with our universal outcome. When one looks at collective respiratory lines in Mumbai, or the hanging breathing over cities in China one is not evincing an ideological concept or summoning up Christian superiority that gloats over the fates of the condemned. This remains a staggering amplification of our collective circumstance that now reaches beyond the calculation ascribed to galactic distance that presently haunts our understanding of the unknown. Let us say that collective DNA has now become conversant with its aftermath and now assumes another language that presently susurrates with itself as another form capable of tenancy with unimaginable forms that cognition can never attest to. 




Will Alexander- Poet, novelist, playwright, essayist, philosopher, visual artist, pianist, who has authored over 30 books and chapbooks. He has read at venues stretching from Rotterdam to Los Angeles and is currently poet-in-residence at Beyond Baroque Poetry Center in Venice California. In addition to this he is a Whiting Fellow, a California Arts Council Fellow, a Pen Oakland winner, an American Book Award winner, as well being both a recipient of the Jackson Prize for poetry in 2016, and a Lifetime Achievement Award from Beyond Baroque Poetry Center in 2018. He resides in Los Angeles.

Monday, May 27, 2019

Selections from Spirits In The Albino Hotel (throwing antlers), Part 2 by J. Karl Bogartte

The Guardians by J. Karl Bogartte





All that is lost to interpretation, she becomes a passing moment for a panorama, a blind assassin fondling the wind that leads to your entrance.

*

She let you in, to the mirror, the fiction, into shadow. For her you were seahorse and Saracen, tail first and cabal, pool-like and sleight of hand… 

*

A mumbling savant keeps the chronologists at bay, takes apart those lost Huron consternations, planting morning glories for clarity. A lovesick girl who is perpetually lighting candles… A sorceress without mercy, with training wheels for archival balance. Your transparency enables that luminosity of over-riding concerns, being seen through, for a vast landscape that doesn’t know you. Imagines you. But who you are. The absurd brilliance of re-inhabiting your body with no precedent. Mumbling… Imprinting…

*

The mind is a handful of golden dust, a grand gesture to imitate the storm, challenge dissolution.

*

The antlered guardian is a tiptoed dwarf veiled in royal chemise, espionage, dipped in ink and wolf-shaped. To be torched into transparency.





J. Karl Bogartte is an artist/poet and involved in international surrealism.

His writing has been included in Paraphilia Magazine, The Fiend, X- Peri, Diaphanous,
Numéro Cinq (online) and Peculiar Mormyrid, Analogon 65, la vertèbre et le rossignol (in print). He has published 11 books of prose poems and Antibodies a surrealist novella. His most recent books are Auré, The Spindle’s Arc, And Still The Navigators… His newest collection Spirits In The Albino Hotel throwing antlers will be published in the summer of 2019.

Friday, May 24, 2019

Three Poems by Jonathan Butcher


Retracted Pride

//Back when drizzle of rain, only heard, straight through
failing to break this. That false those statements, 
superiority we attempt, backs straightened with contact,
failing to break this spill over like broken so reliant upon
from rotting barrels.Those faces against grey mass 
of steel the pavements and promises of ill....straight
through the sober minute, they slowly echo toilet
wall, stifle vulgar patch-work in all-consuming flag;
they sit complacent, but we have now all of maintenance,
and float yet refuse, the shop doors to those faces tempting 
fate, each crumbling with mandrakes the cobble stones 
from pollen never redeemable.... weeping wound, that 
hangover soliloquies ring that tears without protest. 
now as dark as feet nimble, mounted tables decades 
was now slowly, brittle as still within homes, those 
flowers and walls recited, faulty ruse dusts over any
uneven by design, that light now basking; finally mastered//







Strewn
Back drop of tire torn green cross roads
splitting horizon, the steel balconies
clamped on orange brick new builds, 
black spray-paint not yet faded over
wood. Circular mud patches, chairs 
strewn heavily; wicker baskets empty
among holes, faded flag of carpet at 
half mast practising indolence; mattered
ends, melted blue plastic seeped out 
through concrete, cracked like lake beds
dry, ash like blue glimmer through twigs, 
brick turret unarmed, tires looped in 
carcasses as yet eviscerated without rot.  
Everything just about questioned outside;
can and bottle, melded aluminium harmony
without melody, warning in splashed yellow; 
excessive voltage.







Smudge of Ash

Embedded within favours
     pressure points in ribs
each finger caught in sharpened 
edges, that reach; muscles struggle
     at  the best of times. 
bulbs remain lit, remotely excusable
pernicious doctrine, related back 
     without haste. 







Jonathan Butcher is a poet based in Sheffield. He has had work appear in various print and online publications including: Popshot, Ex-Ex Literature, The Transnational, Sick-Lit, Drunk Monkeys, The Morning Star, Mad Swirl and others. He edits the online poetry journal 'Fixator Press', through which his third chapbook, 'Corroded Gardens' was published.   

Sunday, May 19, 2019

Reciprocity by Sheila E. Murphy

Reciprocity 1





Reciprocity 2




Reciprocity 3





Sheila E. Murphy is an American poet who has been writing and publishing actively since 1978. Her book titled Reporting Live from You Know Where won the Hay(na)Ku Poetry Book Prize Competition from Meritage Press (U.S.A.) and xPress(ed) (Finland).  Also in 2018, Broken Sleep Books brought out the book As If To Tempt the Diatonic Marvel from the Ivory. Luna Bisonte Prods released Underscore in that same year, featuring a collaborative visual book by K.S. Ernst and Sheila E. Murphy. Murphy is the recipient of the Gertrude Stein Award for her book Letters to Unfinished J. (Green Integer Press, 2003). Murphy is known for working in forms including such as the ghazal, haibun, and pantoum in her individual writing. As an active collaborator, she has worked with Douglas Barbour on an extended poem called Continuations. Murphy’s visual work, both individual and collaborative, is shown in galleries and in private collections. Initially educated in instrumental and vocal music, Murphy is associated with music in poetry. She earns her living as an organizational consultant, speaker, and researcher and holds the PhD degree. She has lived in Phoenix, Arizona throughout her adult life. 

Friday, May 17, 2019

Two Poems by Sam Silva


THE UNEXAMINED LIFE

Fat gut...pig head!
Fifty years that sink like lead
falling skin over a belt
which fortifies what hollow slacks.

Wrinkled sin
and facial facts
exude the pure fatigue within
like a huge unseemly welt
pressing on such necks and backs
for sixty years and on and on.

Oh what fools we children are!
We, the living! We, the dead!
Seeding fusion like a star
till we collapse internally
upon such grieving paths we lead
for seven decades of a song

and curling in dry wisdom, then
four score four seasons
like a pen
that never wrote
its inner poem

but dallied a brief time here
just long enough to leave
a note
to our beloved
and so journeyed home!







LESS THAN HUMAN THINGS

Nervous old cat
fringed with terror

in a yard near a shack
bordered by mean dogs
that glisten out back.

Love lets go!
Termites eat the logs
...Summer becomes fall
till leaves turn to snow.

What I see is "that!"
in the broken mirror...






Sam Silva has published at least 150 poems in print magazines, including Sow's Ear, The ECU Rebel, Pembroke magazine, Samisdat, St. Andrew's Review, Charlotte Poetry Review, Main Street Rag, and many more. Has published at least 300 poems in online journals including Jack Magazine, Comrades, Megaera, Poetry Super Highway, physik garden, Ken again, -30-, Fairfield Review, Foliate oak, and dozens of others. Three legitimate small presses have published chapbooks of his, three of those presses have nominated work of his for Pushcart a total of 7 times. He now has many books and chapbooks available at most major online bookstores and his spoken word poetry is available at the major digital markets such as Apple iTunes.

Monday, May 13, 2019

99 Infinite by Rus Khomutoff


99 infinite pliable soul
tomorrowland love juice needle eye compulsion
evergreen simmer miracle moon zero escape
not my circus not my clowns
pardon want motion aero dialogue
encore of the redolent drop
warning mash interzone margin
the book of days
autumn thorn halo acid 
phantasm expresso glance
invisible empire hypnotic satellite
jungle crusade holy land prayer
naked galaxy gala walkthrough
There is a diamond part of us that is trying to emerge
paradox kink wild and wonderful
let it be civil wanderlust rampage
sentiment hollow love
renaissance extract delta
this portent stone of cosmic comedy
the other apocrypha
alongside the need to explain
porcelain corridors of the body poetik
the beautiful unspoken





My name is Rus Khomutoff and I am an experimental language poet base in Brooklyn, NY. My poetry has appeared in San Francisco review of books, Proprose magazine, Mojave Heart review and Hypnopomp. In 2018 I published my debut collection Immaculate Days (Alien Buddha Press)

Friday, May 10, 2019

Three Pieces by Heller Levinson


nostril ladder spittoon bathe lozenge silk
the leather
of
space

potentialities pucker for purchase

irregularity suds

mixed company
the fruit of

compliance








shadow stravage
unsealed                     unsubstantiated
         peeled from surface
gone askew            chortling
unstrung
a shadow unfolding     re-

composing as
non-affiliate

a lurk
in consummate

consideration








smoke lavender
jodhpur joust              rubs
          pleat periwinkle
skin-scented joineries,   , flush
with intimacy,  with
keyed murmuration . . . . .
. . . . . . . .
parcels congregate
embellish rotation . . .
. . .
wind as
suffix



Heller Levinson, the originator of Hinge Theory, lives in New York where he studies animal behavior.  His latest book, Un--, was published this Spring (Black Widow Press, 2019).