mr dorian, i read your cliff's notes, your pretty lips, face from a time when a forehead was a brow and hair rippled, well mine just grows and i'm right in front of you, mr dorian, watch me, hands and tomatoes, breath and garlic,
six tomatoes, is how the poem starts, see these hands in the kitchen skinning tomatows on scalding water, their weeping skinless the blood in my handskin a fury. see these veins in these fingers, watch them carry blood back to the best heart you'll ever know, a heart beating for these hands skinning tomoatoes in the kitchen.
for those of you who are not buffalo poetics listserv junkies...
the other day i...sole editor...posted a call for submissions for a new electronic magazine i am putting together entitled melancholia's tremulous dreadlocks...it should be making its debut sometime soon...
mtd...for the most part...will be a journal of poetry...however i just accepted an interview...so one never knows what might rub me the right way...it will be an irregulary yet frequently updated e-journal...
all fiction/non-fiction should be short short short...what does that mean you ask? well...no war and peace-sized epic works on your underwear and that sort of thing...
poetry submissions should be sent as a .doc or in the body of an email (if formatting is not an issue)...no more or less than 4-8 works in one submission...if you've sent me two poems i won't even look at them...i need to taste a little bit of everything at the buffet...
send submissions to my primary email address: email@example.com
a word of warning...ever hear of something called tripod dorothy?
melancholia's will not be the prettiest looking journal in the world considering the fact that like many poets i am dirt poor (ever live off ramen noodles?)...if you can get past the ads and dig into the good stuff this should not be a problem...a body's got to start somewhere...eventually i'll purchase a domain and all that jazz but for now the url will be clunky and there will be advertisements on the site for things i've never even heard of like mr. wonder's age-defying bodily excretions...
My name is Woolie da bully lovin sheep shaggar fillin up dem shelves at da muther fockin Asda mon
D'yers get me white boy? D'yer's know where mon blood from mon? From da Northside laah where dem police and thieves is nightly fightin in Bridge Street by da mon Michael Hunters mon
'n in dem Nursery school mon where me 'n my crew go wiv the cider, suppin in dem wendy house after army cadets on wednesday mon
where we keep our guns 'n shout about left right left right left wheeel!!
coz wheeze is da stormtroopin coolsters gettin bladdered on the park n composin
which don't take no time coz I'm a witness of love lookin down from the top froo the bottom of a pint pot laah.
I rock the mic with the wrong bodies bein seasick 'n teasin the family Houston like wot's on the Robbie records I got for me birthday, before I got in trouble wiv the police for shootin me grandad for his pension muffa focker so spread dem wings and fall apart wiv the heart of a dead end bar outline. Flicker it naggard,
presently seduced moaning panting feel and magical expanse insanely fuck you start into electro engulfed beauty job when a penis is as delicate as gasoline sparks make transcendent my scope knows pursues you o heat salty love velvet parts body is way tied in moment most speckled lids embrace stamps bursting lovers all following signals geography in that just kindred go when my speckled history verses finger gingerly horizons horizontally everywhere dear absolute absorbed secret other nervous long femininity eyes mix crave oscillations with ravelike intoxicate love for it would seem longingly present and this cherish ring of moans of smoke of flesh spin strokes red flashlights lit strolling together dynamite shitfaced purity we could potentially end as bodies intertwined we insane stoned why gladly i heart this hold that so perfumed overwhelms sweet trembling along on body drugshattering qualities to say to glass pointillistically i will yours be omnipotent touch blindfolded joining hands
lift me up mix make love fornicate war feat public enemy mercy the sky my beautiful blue sky electro my weakness now let it go when the kite goes for cheap vodka lets fuck it fuck it fuck finger paintings of the insane why is the other end of this telephone cord tied securely to your penis just ring the fucking bell to find out some fucking horrible truth the most consistent symbolism in blue velvet brain is trying to lick gasoline i admire your purity i crave crab i'll dynamite a creek for the bastards neckbone on a rope indeed
thread of town plastic hearts moan of glass sigh cat ribbons city o city you're in my scope in my eye i paint you all over white sphinx cradle trembling like lovers all six arms whipping about madly sadly gladly immensely like cursive like a spire a sphere gone higher build pursue wild-eyed red-eyed o long nervous fingers
uberaware tracing the city 'round about midnight following a shepherd's hook along the river giant postindustrial red flashlights lit up ravelike beaming signals postage stamps strolling by the bank that long ago lowered its sleepy drunken lids shuttered its doors the crimson oscillations intoxicate me the skeleton of a huge somewhere statue brush strokes of air the impressionistic qualities of being shitfaced air all perfumed embrace yes curling around my body joining parts yes cold wind beating my face yes yes yes dear wisconsinite this reality of the city as a drug shattering your veins into tiny green shards growing immense in a oneness of two wandering wondering terrified like a child aware of some blessed union when hand crashes down on hand and my eyes unfold upon a marvelous nomad melancholy geography a strange plane paint a black night so pointillistically beautiful stars speckled everywhere love busting horizons horizontally like a windshield a headon collision long fingernails hair in pursuit of atmosphere absorbed in beauty ceiling of clouds falling in warmth of fusion delusion and rope pulled taut magic act stuttering knowing one true cattyeyed thing allpowerful omnipotent dissolving broken down battered in wanting and wanting moaning panting out into the deck of cards universe great expanse lay me down joker that i am spin me around deal me as whatever you'd admire or adore
art sits by power art reflects upon art web ring art is gilded with in the code art sinks into love murals and fine art in the bay area art raises for everyone art whines to life index art falls to ok art is drowning in jazz art controls stamps art connects with fun art stops at still a mystery art loses magical " " art covers as good as it gets
I recognise speech mirrors silence and words rise like bricks from unknown pools when instinct builds a bridge that shines upon the hidden outline of their mind reflecting its flawed form for all to read.
Their brain draws waves from reality's canvas and their willpower moves mine like hands at an oracle prodding a lump of knowledge to stir my first alertness of the other world in a language which kindles a tune to flame from the internal universe ticking my clockwork song in a unique time truthful to their genius
They are understanding givers who divine what dream in a cloud above stars will breathe in light and make reality sing of life's return to a slumbered weave of painted silence with the memory of one slipped bottle dropped from a toddler's fingers the morning milk struck land and grounded outside a door to shatter in a puff of broken glass
smashing itself into the mind by sheer force of will as a first remembered act of childhood revealed behind the door of sleep I make believe my soundless unseen wave like ripple lapping on their screen of thought can open.
Calliope Nerve will highlight great poets and writers in an ongoing microzine format by submission and invite. Spaces are still left for our debut issue. Subject matter is irrelevant however we do focus on experimental and off the beaten path type pieces. Email nobius at gmail.com. Also, our last poetry collaboration microzine Reno Shot is free and still available via snail mail.
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