Friday, September 30, 2016

3 poems || Texas Fontanella

A Line From Patrick Bateman

Impossible is nothing when Xbox live accounts and password recovery protocols are disabled for income tax purposes. How puberty impacts Western Union exchange rates. Extensive load-disabling cues determine basics card eligibility thru wavelength analysis plus the frequency of visually effeminate articles appearing in conversation as a indirect result of Get Smart. So check Defacebook, move on up and atomize. Solve radical equations with anagrams. Apply now adequately warm linguistic driftwood to the irrelevant literature over long distances indeed. No gravitas was eaten in the making of this erasure.

A Quantum Mechanic Catches Just A Glimpse Of Space-Time

I’m trying to find
water repellant fa-

bric-a-brac. Too many
surgical chance operat-

ions on sale. I just lost
the language game.

The Cymbal Fad Is Over

in war-torn waist
panama, siopao
source & stain
shirts’re shipped
in as special treats
for wasp stings.

text || Lawrence Upton


predominantly trumpet.
he blows; blows what's large: aspirant, contesting, entrant, hopeful, nominee

predominantly piano.
sincerity, integrity, truth full

predominantly piano and percussion.
birch club pole, rod shaft staff, stake stave stick


bottle bucket

flask shell


blitz, bombard

trumpet and piano.
has another blow: contestant


acute-alert-astute-cagey-clever-cunning-deft-keen-knowing penetration

percussion and piano.
perceptive piercing-quick quick sighted-quick witted-receptive-responsive-sagacious

sensitive-sharp, sharp-witted-shrewd

entrance truthfulness


integrity principle, fact sincerity, truth rod

stake, handgun subway, professors' column

rod pup


canine scoop

john box









trumpet with a bit of piano.
inventive-enterprising-resourceful-sharp-brilliantly discriminating

piano alone.

keen educated inquiring

acute, adaptable, alert, diplomacy discerning; acute edge, astute, acute

Monday, September 5, 2016

poem || Texas Fontanella

time wasters

Time wasters,
time has wasted
-rs art all we are now

we let it not
waste ours

&       hours spent
not by us

to let
let us collect nothink
but things
are what they make
of us, not us of us


let                    us
let                    our

ship wreck
whole                 sales    terms &
states how        they needed coin
the terminal
to turn us in                                  to them


self                                                      less

4 poems || Philip Byron Oakes

Dressing No No Up to Say

In time dying down to a murmur only a
parrot could love. A virtual standstill over
in a twinkle goading stars to shine. Quiver
like a tremble within parentheses. In a
language not of your choosing. Inviting a
counterpoint out for a taste of what broke
the man in the pants, when the moment
found its destiny in the funny papers. As
the oligarchs chuckle over nothing, the
parchment having its day in court of little
consolation. Awaiting a surety the rain will
fall from grace. When it comes down to
tiddlywinks in the tale of how the great
dam was built. The breezes wrapped
around your head like a turban. How a
shorthand grew up splashing like a
fiend in the waters off the coast
of reality.

Incidental Staccato

Stumping through the glare that cost god the election.
Downstream of conscious efforts to leapfrog the fatigue.
To expose ground down to the bone. Taking shape to
extremes, best fettered in hopes of blurring the distinctions.
Escorting a teeter to the dance. A prosecutorial headspin
woven into a waltz. To puff the hope chest out of sorts with
the air we breathe. Leaving little choice with all the others. A
stigma shy of escape. A casual way of saying in a Sanskrit of
the peepers. Making the turn into something demonstrable
by degree. As the tronies take their poses to heart. Putting
acoustics to the test of a verdict to be read basso profundo.
Steering a barge of belief knowing too well the weight
wielded as part and parcel of the prize. Implicit commentary
taking the air out for a stroll. Protocol of the wild weaning
the weak of will woven into trauma’s crusade. Embracing
freedoms of the time that’s come to its own conclusion.
Teaching old dogs the music interwoven into pouring their
little hearts out of respect for the dead and the dying to

First of All

Calibrated adding up to a precipice from
which to better see the world. Fitting a
scenario to the nth of one leaves one to
wonder. The homestretch to the great
awakening. A perpetual seep, seeking a
surface from which to ooze to the
attention. Balancing hope with
expectation, on the pinhead of a
moment both dwindling and bursting at
the seams. A grammar of twinkle toes in
the mud. Down a gnarled stretch of
hyperbole. A frail escapee of a silence at
the core to the roar of modern living.
Cloaking a fashion haunting venues
beyond the words. The poverty of a
buffer cordoning off an incipient rage,
of the dispossessed by the hallowed
falling hollow into place. An embryonic
fait accompli. Under the feeble arc of 
homage to a leitmotif breaking ground
in a manner contingent upon the bite
of the libretto.                                           

Consuming Time

Naked as trees walking winter back
in real time. Autumn in the fig leaf
forest. Presumptions of symmetry
giving wing a leg up on lightening
the load. Bivouacked on mirage.
Knitting here with where you find
it, a step past knowing where you
are. Mired in sequence. Captured
in acts of come and gone. Present,
from a distance imposing its will.
Obscuring the irrelevant at the
peak of its importance. So kilter
takes akimbo by the hand. Gilding
retrospectives. Putting ephemerae
at great risk of overstaying their
welcome. As an adjunct spicing up
the little things that make the
world go round the bend. Leading
consequence in circles drawn
from time’s irrevocable stagger
filling out the numbers a to z.

text || Marco Giovenale

a society of crime and corruption
the security guard on campus, tired of being surrounded by skeptical instructions, being one of the few who remember the massacre, total if not totalitarian, responsible for the eye factor, the yo is killed, the shadow of the human world, his successor, incomparable manrico, a radio host, her daughter valentine, initially rejects it,

2011, three films in one, cantonese, the day after santina and fedoro, a journalist, lin, already here, see the dispute between those who believe the 5th film a masterpiece, 

promising revelations on the killer's name, in short, sasha, peace is torn apart when a vicious vampire emerges out of nowhere to kill the mexican photographer, his fellow vampires discover he returns to campus, a 1 khz life, including that of a janitor, waitress moody and weird, 576 x 320 audio, 

eventually leading to the discovery of an interview, output, from violence to grace, able to forgive his father and take the first steps on the path of life, 436 mb subtitles, located in japan, eluan also concludes that kiry can be his greatest enemy, carrying an ax while he is driving his car, seems to have not yet lost hope, 

the girl has a crisis of crying and the mandarin has a few drinks, aac, 44, without thinking of the consequences, to prove their superiority, the story continues as an interweaving of events in the foreground, those in cannes whistle, the sacred and metaphysical banality plus the interacting of four primordial elements, fire, action fantasy, santina strongly suspects the school employee, the game becomes more powerful, 

folklore expert xvid shows a small group of students speaking event, calling for a further dna test to also ward off the last doubt, the time has come to rid the earth of this menace, 5 editors, there's no trace of the machine, seafront residence, 

there is another nocturnal movement in the park of the villa, you stop at a lantern sos, sexy models and actresses in the 50s, between them there is the 3rd movie, afraid to run the campaign, light changes his mind when he witnesses the citizen decides to stay in a rural bed and breakfast, put it on display in the small room

prose-cartoon || Adam Engel

I Mourn the Loss of Meme

Meme the idea I call myself. Descent Hungarian: Polish: Jewish: mating birthing moving dying talking planning dreaming continuous till death they did part.

Formerly alive and young Me of a strange and distant century.

Educated in the grand tradition of public schools and television. Calvinist Consumerist American Meme. Media stealth blitz ravishing The Word. Images more potent than: more lively than: more sticky than. Manufactured overseas to protect the mythical American Meme material of language music cinema.

Meme the holographic cells of Body Politic. I mourn the loss of Me to me. Duplicitous double-agent Time works The Myth Machine now: later to replace or dismantle my Me to nothing: silence: void of me.

I remember doing being -- aware of doing being -- in Time (“what happened?”).

I remember Me in motion. Proof of Me my self alive and separate from me-Body-Politic. Goose-stepping acolyte and yes-Man me on loan from Time to Time. The me-Body-Politic equates my – former -- Me with anyone's neighbor’s kin in Idaho or Texas: anywhere someone somewhere calls “here now” in the Empire of work: death: talk.

Citizen Me immortal. Oh poor me (as I now must call myself)! The 50 year drama without narrative thrust forward. Primary Me redacted and defined by Time and HIS-story now secondary me dreaming days supine on the sunny lawns and beaches of my young.

Sentimental dissipation. Scatter: scatter: scatter solid earth Me of the sunburned skin to wild west winds and an occasional typhoon.

March on: march on: selfless-expendable me-mortal. Billions of me for every Me on earth enables the me-murderous death-march unto Meme.

Slaughter devour disperse till nothing left of Me but me.

Wednesday, August 31, 2016

8 poems || Lawrence Upton

Next time #1

Game Show Box opens itself Price crash Runs out the Blood Takes off the top of any standing Sort of mucus leaves the Sky

some kind

Skin Floppy and slimy What milk does when it cools Heavy on the spoon Chewy Breathe it in Awkward to get rid of It was so hot yesterday!

I thought I was going to die Died in the skin Is cast Died At the wall Hauled up before Buy a defence False?

Judge for yourself Rancour Anti personnel antique Anti personal Limit of End of a Head continues Right to the end she was reading Her body's pulped Rites to Limits of understanding Come here A light at the end of a Come hear Let me Waving and wavering Let me compensate for this Imbalance That Which I feel This and That The floor gets buckled on with rooms Earth surface patterned with Bits stuck into Mush‑rooms in a virtual shade Sheltering trunks slipped out of the vault they puncture

Tumble sky fall Can distinguish our voices crying?

Each one of the dead with its own Exemption from forgetfulness Bales of stripped human skin stacked in sheds Hands and feet chopped before She shall have your Chronos is already eating

Next time #2

Now's the time to keep quiet as some keep jewels and private letters Passport Credit card To seek others' quiet Press them Keep silent Out of vision Bow the head Victims nodding assent at the executioner A dangerous time Following rules including engagement To convenience Licking shit and naming it pleasure Copper age Seamless decay in worked out minds Basking Crags assailable Playback voices from Equality of recording Each stratum of equal value A system of classification system of class Beads and images rolling Apart to be declared individual In aftershock of unreported earthquake Gun goes off A corpse comes back as Management Worship of ancestors Verbal tags Beeps of personal Mass folly Have they been told They have entered data Do not enter A goat trots down a sticky road Wanting to escape our steady pace Wanting the shade beyond a linked fence Turns repeatedly to swelling hills and hesitates High hot sun on crosswires of the barrier Looks back at us Eyes outcast Feet cleave almost dead grasses Trots A fox circling the nettle patch Under the plum tree Brought there by others' bone scents Trapped by lack of deductive logic

Next time #3

A finger in her mouth A gestural cigarette A ring upon her finger Scent of poison Screams from thickets in The churning stomach Multilegged the ground Milk teeth Blood teeth So much darker than a cave or eyes Persistence of failing vision Light put out put out again Doubled darkness and all the imprecision A coupled darkness With what?

Unnamed An unknown generating heat The only constant Towards infinity Don't bother me with these things she says as she blows smoke

Next time #4

Bright yellow She is stroking her lip Old End of a conversation Two blokes laughing as they bundle out a door alert Spit brown and bubbly on the dry pavement Zip runs through the lycra desert Tugs up Shuffles under gaudiness encasing her and walks Almost sexy To herself

Next time #5

One fair-haired cherubic face balloons Begins floating Belly spherical Antshape Baker's confection Guided by backjets from tidy rounded buttocks Monkeys Leap and jump to try to catch them Fill them with water Make them swell Onlookers are shouting Puncture those bodies Stop them Seeding Saturn in the ascendant

Next time #6

A rocket A bomb A can of beer Way the light catches Flames start to ivy the side of a shed Is that all there is?

Within a year his name Bones gnawed away Skull parted Eyes cream Is this enough?

I can easily give more Relentless I am The boredom relieved by the boredom Emptiness honour Sing me a song I can sleep to with security Honour my offer

Next time #7

Comfort a word for people who run first Their limbs disingenuous Parakeets precipitated in the asteroidal atmosphere That is There are birds in the tree And their feathers are falling These birds which are parakeets Illustrative and exemplary if patchily of early nineteenth century prosody It may be that the talking birds flocking into an empty space in my fields of vision Cold and crisp A shrinking planet Shrivelling A windfall in a dry spot

Next time #8

A blue strip of the sea spreads into empty dark Smell of chips Fire and an An angel from the sky Overweight Both of them Angel and sky A mouthful of electric light bulbs How do I know this is my last train home?

Keep her happy says someone Keep her happy She may open her legs And when you have arrived you have not arrived and where you think you are is not where you are It is so simplified!

Faces reflect from the outside world I don't know why My cuffs Perpetual fingers Lots of laughter A canal where you'd expect meadow A world that isn't bombastic That isn't perverse A comb in the back of the hair like an axe An androgynous face looks out at the low sky Cables connect us We are part of a system Intelligent or not Really?

Rely on me