Author Archive for admin

ear – carrot – stick – non-penetration – supernatural

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admin
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in Dec 29 2007
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Untitled

by Carla

 

Ear in carrott stick makes good

Listening in on those cool hallways

Where smooth as silk voices nattering

Smooth and smuther the smooth hard

Smooth dark, did I say hard floors

Sliding by not supernatural in the all but perfectly normal

Act of non-penetration

 

 

 

Juice Vellocet

by Adam

 

Pour me a dram of carrot +

My droogs would like a tomato moloko and

a cabbage celery fennel-ohotsk

 

I’m only a wanker due to I haven’t

captured any supernatural ear yet tonight.

 

Let us track down some vagrants

and give them the stick

bashing and banishing

hope of non-penetration.

 

 

 

Plot of Land

by Stephanie

 

Always carry a cinnamon stick

with exactly one ear,

minus the carrott.

You wheel your barrel

through a supernatural orchard

of supple dripping juice fruits.

And regretful of non-penetration,

you suck them right in, sadly.

 

 

 

Untitled

by Evelyn

 

Richy wants to do the nice carrot + to her. She is not too old for him to put a stick in her tea and to whisper in her ear, “Supernatural non-penetration.”

 

sputter – wrist – pupae – twelve thousand eighty-four – grey

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in Dec 29 2007
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Falling Out of the Sky

by Stephanie

 

There they were when we peered into the microscope at Future Laboratories:

Twelve thousand eighty-four of them.

Wriggling pupae, grey in their fragility,

frightened in a beige ocean.

 

That’s what I remembered strangely when your wrist hung out of the helicopter—

You dangled and sputtered,

I was a cardboard box

for the first time.

 

 

 

Misplaced Glasses

by Matthew

 

Sputter like a goat fuck gone sour…

Did you say pupae?

I can read lips.

 

If the wrist doesn’t give out first,

YOU ARE DOING IT WRONG!!

 

I don’t believe in numbers over 12,084.

They are just another gray day.

 

 

 

The Big Mistake

by Evelyn

 

I am not relaxing, not at all, not since the big mistake of 1284. I have been writing since then and my wrist is a knot and my crotch meats are grey and I have been a professor of 12 languages and pupae have chewed this paper into a mince.

The years have not been delicate with me and I sputter badly trying to redact the big mistake of 1284, a very big mean pornographic biblical mistake.

 

 

 

I Have Forgotten B’s—That is the Mother Thought

by Carla

 

My, before that, I mean in the beginning

there was man and god—or god and man

Twelve-thousand eighty-four was a number incorporated, purposefully

into the background of the mother thought—or what we like to call the target.

 

Long lean pupae scoot and pump

their way across the parquet

I hope they ask me—to take a wrist

to float in the grey, through the veil

into the land of juiceboxes

around which pucker the lips of the young

while behind the old sputter and flick.

 

 

 

Don’t Remind Me

by Adam

 

of a broken wrist I got one time

from a cruel and egotistical bully.

The illicit sputter of recreational respiration experiments

a horrible vision of acres of pupae

twelve thousand eighty-four writhing grey insects

awakening from dormancy

to seek the maintenance of their pattern.

 

sorcerer – stuck – gravel – grovel – nacre

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A Sorcerer Stuck in a Blowhole

by Adam

 

Shrimp grasping and tweezing at the obstruction,

remorae giving him some nasty hickies

 

When the judge dropped the gavel,

condemning him to a sojourn below

we fell to his knees in the gravel,

dreaming and dreading the tortures to come.

His legal counsel advised him to grovel

but the admonition was unnecessary.

 

Now his pointed sorcerer hat is salty and damp,

his cloak tangled in urchins,

barnacles on the buckles of his boots,

his staff displaying a tender coating of nacre.

 

 

 

 

 

Untitled

by Evelyn

 

You think, let’s make the sister eat gravel

and then drag her to a ditch.

 

I am happy to be the sorcerer to your decrepit whims.

 

We are stuck here in this flooded shit hole

of a home for debauched children

 

And now one comes up to fondle your nacre

and you are so anxious to begin to grovel

 

 

 

 

 

Untitled

by Carla

 

Adam’s seen in his dreams what grabble

grovelable gravels his girls choose

besides what stuck stock stuck up and down.

Why soured I wanna rome the right?

What the hell sorcerer is that word?

Bah, the rest nacred to death.

 

 

 

 

 

Writer’s Block

by Matthew

 

I’m more stuck than

a sorcerer who accidentally

stepped on his magic wand

while stumbling to the toilet

in the middle of the night.

 

Do I need to blooden my

knees, as I grovel on

this gravel path that leads

to another night ala insomniac?

 

Or, should I write the first

thing that comes into my head

and hope that time will

slowly grind it into nacre…

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Trail in the Forest

by Stephanie

 

She boasted that nacre was her favorite color.

I asked her, “what’s nacre?”

And that’s where we got stuck,

sunken in the gravel and grime.

A sorcerer gave us a potion

That took twenty years to mature.

It flowed and coated us,

we were slippery to grovel

at each other’s white thighs.

horn – inflating – façade – spark – crap-chute

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in Dec 29 2007
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Lucky Us

by Evelyn

 

The ambassador to Poland would be arriving any minute in the small beleaguered nation.

All the country’s cameras were trained on the crap chute by which all outsiders must enter this country.

The horn player stood ready with her silver welcome horn, and

the children were inflating balloons and tying them off with tiny dexterous fingers.

The country’s façade was decorated with crepe paper handed down from America to Russia to Romania to the small beleaguered nation.

All of a sudden, there was a spark, and then a bright, breathtaking blaze.

Everyone looked at the fire juggler and what he had done to all expectations of diplomacy.

 

 

 

Untitled

by Adam

 

You must be inflating my expectations

revealing your little horn

You must trust my interpretations

or do you think of me as a small

spark on the contact of the

grandiose neon of your façade?

Touch me in the place that triggers

the belief of experience

And I will cease my belief

that you’re trying to implicate my crap-chute.

 

 

 

 

Tuesday 8:37 pm

by Matthew

 

My indigestion came about like the glorious prouncements of festive horns

A sudden weight, a quick moment of discomfort

The first signal of a coming procession…

Of inflating, expanding gas, a rising tide of bile

All that is needed now is a spark

An ignition that will turn my bowels into

An inferno, sending all my insides into

A molten flow, expelled in a moment

Of great relief

Through the crap-chute the façade of human dignity is betrayed.

 

 

 

Dust-making

by Stephanie

 

We stood ingeniously, tilting,

inflating and deflating

in front of everyone.

Someone’s horn honked in the distance.

Our façade was chipped away substantially.

 

Someone’s stray seizing threw a spark

that crackled and creeped into a fiery inferno.

We were consumed, crisped, cooled.

Rain on our ashes trickled and carried us

down the dreaded crap-chute.

fingernail – duplicitous – conjoined – skeleton – pothole – fiery

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in Dec 29 2007
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Untitled

by Evelyn

 

You were going to save me from the fiery passage

but when the pothole shook loose your determination you picked it up

and gave it to me and it was:

A small fantastic skeleton.

“What do you think will happen to us now?” I asked.

You were picking at it with your fingernail.

“The hip and elbow parts are conjoined,” you said.

It moved by rolling, pushing with its chin.

The neighbor, the duplicitous one with a bucktooth, called.

He said he saw what we were doing, how we were holding the bones

of his mother, his mother who worked the perimeter of death,

the strange carnival there.

 

 

Untitled

by Adam

 

Riding on my skeleton bike

taking time on the way to the place of my preference

 

Many of them have a tendency

to duplicitous ankle-biting

and taking out frustration

in a cruel rumor

 

Skeleton and I come conjoined

in transportive agency

 

Dually at the whim of

an unseen pothole

brained by jelly

tripping a fingernail more alcohol.

 

 

Untitled

by Stephanie

 

Her skeleton was ground to bits

and mixed with the concrete that filled

a pothole in front of your house.

 

And that one shaving of fingernail,

that duplicitous little fragment that showed up

and you could smell it there,

tangled in the carpet.

 

Your conjoined brother, tearing away from your hip,

says in a fiery tone,

“See? You knew she wouldn’t leave.”

testament – musical – oblong – bison – skillfully – nubs

Published
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on January 16, 2008
in Dec 29 2007
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Ode to the Stride of the Bison

by Adam

 

The rhythm of the stampede,

musical actuality of pounding hooves,

racing masses and alternate nubs of horn.

You’d be easily offended by the appearance of power.

See a testament to your smallness

skillfully disassemble the population,

cheerfully heap oblong forms into

a huge stinking pile.

 

 

The Bison Tried to Go to the Amphitheatre and Becomes Very Frightened and Even More Lonely in the West

by Evelyn

 

The bison was dragging itself to where

the musical was showing,

down in the oblong amphitheatre off the highway.

 

It was thinking, I have no friends, I am a lonely bison,

I want some long grasses waving like a testament to the wind.

 

Its legs were almost nubs but it kept going

because this musical was supposed to be the best

ever shown at the amphitheatre.

 

Finally, the amphitheatre was within the bison’s sight.

And what the bison saw was everything rearranged skillfully

in a way that was pointing right at him.

 

 

 

Somebody Said Something That Made Us All Think

by Stephanie

 

She presses herself against the smooth oblong tabletop

turned sideways at the dinner party.

The rest of the guests skillfully and politely avoid

the wooly bison stamping and snorting there in the dining room.

 

The flatware lies naked on the linen,

its cascading curves and shining silver nubs a testament

to the lovers who were gifted it.

 

The guests laugh themselves into a musical frenzy,

hurriedly and uncomfortably bland.