In loving memory of William Seward Bonnie
I knew Andrew Boeglin William Seward Bonnie for almost ten years. The first time we truly connected, he invited me to his house to make breakfast, drink whiskey, and discuss our respective manuscripts. We spent the day getting drunk in his garden, dissecting each other’s writing, and discussing poetry, literature, and philosophy. What started as a generous invitation for breakfast burritos and bourbon led to a discovery of our mutual love of language, which later blossomed into a relationship of creative collaboration.
A Note from the Press
There was an absurdity to Andrew that drew me to him immediately. Aside from being my colleague and business partner, he was also one of my dearest friends. Our professional relationship never felt very professional. Andrew’s personality, his life, his relationships, and his work, were all so intimately intertwined, that it was impossible to collaborate with Andrew without also being his friend. We might meet up to work on a book, but instead spend the day smoking weed and watching anime. In the days before my involvement with the press, we briefly lived on opposite sides of a duplex-
turned-makeshift music venue where various Denver artists would perform in the basement. At one such event, sometime around the 4th of July, we ended up on the rooftop screaming the lyrics to “Proud to be an American” while lighting off fireworks an act which later got everyone in the duplex evicted. It was that kind of chaotic energy and recklessness that ruled his relationships as well as his creative endeavors.
The first poetry reading I ever participated in was at Fort Greene in Denver at Andrew’s behest. It had never occurred to me to read my work in front of an audience. Andrew’s excitement and insistence inspired a giddiness and pride in me that he continued to nourish until his death in November of 2019. Encouragement of this kind was not rare from Andrew, and through the years I continually witnessed his support and championship of other artists.
Andrew asked me to join Cheeseburger Nebula Galactic Press in June of 2015. I say “asked,” but he actually just sent a message informing me that I was now a CBNGP editor. I was ecstatic to be a part of something for which he had so much unbridled enthusiasm something that he gushed about with a twinkle
in his eye. He, Dustin Holland, and I met for lunch at one of his favorite places in Denver Annie’s Cafe and officially sealed our partnership over cups of mediocre coffee.
Over the next five years, we would go on to edit and publish numerous books together, host countless reading events and book releases, and envision the different ways in which our shared passion could manifest itself within the Denver writing community. The entity of Cheeseburger Nebula, however, was one that existed long before my or even Dustin’s involvement on forgotten internet blogs and writing forums, in sketches tacked up on Andrew’s bedroom walls, and through bizarre memes he made himself. In some ways, this press was a culmination of his life’s work.Like
many of those who loved him, much of our correspondence was through sending each other weird things we found on the internet. During my time living in Tokyo, we communicated through garbled voice notes, manifesto-like diatribes devoid of punctuation, professions of love and appreciation for one another, spontaneous poetry, and early morning drunk dials while I wandered home from nightclubs. These were
was relentlessly committed to cultivating community around creativity. While he was flawed, and layered, and complex as we all are one thing that never wavered was his love of people and the ideas they conceived. His mission with Cheeseburger Nebula was always to connect. I hope the people this book finds will feel that connection—the absurdity, the love, and the essence of everything that is the infamous William Seward Bonnie in the pages that follow.
the landscapes through which we built the foundation of our friendship, as well as of the press.Andrew
Arielle Lyric Roberts, CBNGP
8
ENLIGHTENANYWAY,HERE’SMENT wxsxb
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission except for the use of brief quotes embedded in critical essays, articles or reviews.
Inside Art: Nicholas Rocco, William Seward Bonnie, Joey Schwebach & Chelsea Petosa. First Level Edition
Copyright © 2020
Cover Artists—William Seward Bonnie & Chelsea Petosa
Proofreader—Chris Overton, Gina Tron Book Design / Layout—Chelsea Petosa
Head chef—Arielle Roberts Editor—Matilde Marrero
A special thanks to: Chelsea Petosa, Ryan Foo & Eutimia Cruz (& MING!), James Brunt, Grace Horton, Emily Marie Passos Duffy, ARIELLE “pixie queen” ROBERTS, Maddy J, Aubrey Noonan, Austin Fields, LSD, Opium, Marijuana, Psilocybin, Valium, Mallory Smart, Gina Tron, Menelik Marutle, Joey Schwebach, Caito Foster, Sarah Rodriguez, Dustin Holland (Michael & Kick as well), Thomas & LeAnna Kapaun (and LINCOLN!), Steven Dunn & (Tara, Jada & Ever) Brian Lupo, Sheba Earth, Matilde Marrero, Madi Chamberlin, Maggie Shearon, Taylor Kirk & Emily Mokotoff, Sam Collins (Pete, Kim, Emily & Jack too), Joe Kemp & The USMC, Brent Tittle & Sarah (John & Madeline too), Alex “The Main Event” Reaves, Thaddeus Blaze & Marleigh Polster, Rachel & Hudson Brady, Frankie Metro, Lindsey Thomas, Bud & Rae Smith, ellie swenson, TONE, Clementine, Nelson Crane, Stacey Marcellus, Larry Yoder & Elaine Haley, Nicole & Ryan Sullivan (Jack & Stella too) Gandhi Mavula, Joe Wallace & Lucreisha Schultz, Charley Fasano, CATDOG, Hillary Leftwich, Erin Shindu, Jonnie D. & Christy Thacker), VED, Evan Trest, Claire, Nathan, Colin & Chris (the Hikes), Michael Bhichitkul, Gabriel Krush, Ben Clary, EMILEE Markweise, John Allen, Gisselle Fryatt, Matt “Jack” Shaw, Jack C. Buck, Elly Finzer, Ryder Collins, Kevin Jacobs, Kannon & Irene (& baby Nigel), Elizabeth Reid, Andrew Reid, Colton McCormick, Jake & Kirsten Kemp, The entire Ray family, PAJO, Cole Cox, Cole Conway, Stoker & Ashley and the kids, Alana Wool, Mush, Hashley, Alyssa Collins, Jake Rowanowski, Connor Maygar, Corey Metz, Kristina Henrick, Alix Wabi-Sabi, Sydney , Lindsey-Lou , Meghan, Xach, Supan, Clayton, Vinny,Frazin, Nate, Brent, Bear, JOB, ROACH, Lucie Clarke, Corrine Scheene, Hannah DeFelice ,CASSIDEE,Camila Wada, J-man, Leyba, A.Razor, Lorenzo James, PK, Erin Andrews, ASKO, Jake Kopanski, Lamberto, HunterDragon, Katie & Ernest Ramos, Fat Daddy, Teddy T, Chaz Thames, LT, T-Nich, Emily Price, Ben Dahlby, Pablo Valdez, Q, Nick Hudspeth, Kareen MOMO, Jon Waters, Michele McDanald, Earl Jr. Glass (TX) Hand of Man Glass (CO) Post Religion (UK) Bookbar (CO) Cappellos (CO), Tiny-Amp Records (CO), Kleft Jaw (CO), Teeth Dreams Magazine (CO), Birdy Magazine(CO), Still Cellars (CO), Mutiny Now! Information Cafe (CO) Bear Pond Books (VT) Trident Booksellers (CO), Innisfree (CO), RAW-PAW (ATX), Unknown Press (NYC), BKLYN1834 (NYC) & OF COURSE my ma, Keith, Kristi, Max, Jack & Sadie (my loves) & the rest of my *literal* family Shepherds & Boeglin’s, Michel’s, Forester’s alike...The Renewal Center CREW…& of course, The F*J*O*A...Rest in Power Justin Calva, Tim Boeglin (AKA pops), Mike Mason, Leah Lombard, Eduardo Jones, Mel Klein, TL, & Ralph Tiquia.
Consume 33
Concrete Sahara 19 17 Shelter Mutt 20 Vision 21 Dissociation 22 You're Fine. 23 We put value to what we percieve 24 Another evening in New Orleans 25 Insert (1) token to play 27
Anyway, Here's Entitlement
These Eyes Have Eyes 16
...& start best 15
Everyone Loves You When You're Dead 30
Pittsburgh is Milan etc. etc. 21
Table of Contents
"Taurus. Saturn's retur. etc // etc." 52514947
Everyday we inch closer to the Bell Riots 38 35
ThineVOGUE12/24/2009EyesSeek 424140
"James Blake breaks a whiskey glass over my head" 39
Farewell & Thanks For All The Bliss
Anyway, Here's Enlightenment
Until the spirit takes hold (Then You'll Know)) 44 41 "I am a haunted house." 47 首を守る*
It'sSugarloafJustPain, Cap
Lastly, Here's Engulfment 53
…& start best debating stating text regrets in all the pen strokes
I focus on the next what will be more complex or will it be less?
I act out and back down failing at what I do next trailing the steps to plan dip outs & cash rounds or stay focused & build what I need to vaugebook
I confess (!) this is all a test... as intrinsic begets to steps my brain is a concession to drugs & concussions. it was a bless the rest in just catalyst I just want to be at my best withering to (blackouts)rest
15
truth is in-between the lines any-who whom had such lines beget/behoove truth be told I speed through green jewels we only feed who we can or need to. loose in the collar frivolous with the dollar. but who isn’t.
16
None of this matters
God in the lenses Craft in the business Gifts to the witless & all this nonsense we dance in I am upended to the endless righteousness I desire I cave Cravingin.days to end is the new theme, but truly is this Pity or is this weakness...context is a space we contain You once had another name...formless...again will come a day
These Eyes Have Eyes.
17 ANYWAY,HERE’SENTITLEMENT
More and more I find myself looking for warmth
Concrete angel bruised by the elements
Mornings of horror. Fingers like fire in a row of daisies
“I guess I’ll take a couple hits and walk north.”
Out into the great unknown—blown out of proportions by televisions and gift shops
As I make my undetectable exit through the back door (shit I needed cash back) this bus won’t catch itself
Rooms filled with elephants…love in the lore
Desperately trying to fit the ash in my coat pocket “a real stash I think”
They’ll all be kindling by the time we’re finished here anyway
CONCRETE SAHARA
Ways to be better while engulfed in flames
Pray for rain…not just bucks
17
Plot my burial in this starbucks Wish…no praise the luck
MUTTSHELTER
20
like some sort of half ravished dog I devoured on, & on in red untilfogthe
It rarely ever is in this glass house of gas, hoses & prisms so fixated on pension & staying out of prison like theunwaveringdeseriresmiles,denials,catchphrases;toscreamlikebloodyhell
piano blocked the natural sun and the general hum of the house that had sat for months I’m cornered off///feeling like I’m in that weird 90s remake of “Romeo & Juliet” except literally the only reason is its’ aesthetics I let off a sort of half-hearted pen stroke that fell into a untilmumbleit gets brought up/wiped up/fumbled (it’s nothing)goalline(it’s nothing)
21
•V I S I O N•
coming forth into vision it’s a sale! I get back to my perky smile and snide comments, take my drugs to dial down my threat level legal or not I levitate towards shapeliness makeshift light I find gratuitous. talk of peace gruesome thought of war or not I felt wholesome for the first time but(ever)scared & covered in ulcers pulses roll over clever like levers unlocked from pressure (I denounced on, & on) until the fever shakes we’re in this together & I mean close enough to kiss or stab one another I talk to my mother as we turn closer to god I think of nothing as I fall further from real talk
22
like disassociating in a grocery aisle having a petite detox with a conscious that’s spiking itself with anything that will sell all thought...all ego...all walk Faulkner books burn to keep me warm while I nod off wills written in chalk so they can wash away into the potholes & flash floods sewer gators have dreams too—I shall forever feast under moons Mame and tide me over like some sort of soldier…or hobo…these days aloud are one in the same conscious thought would be a vacation…but I am complacent all that’s left is a break from the life to reevaluate my thoughts it’s a pastry and pharmy day I keep trying to die but I’m living life at its peak anyway.
DISSOCIATION
23
YOU’RE FINE.Iwander
these twilight hours showered in power could this be the morning I thrive gliding past the fines, finessed blinds… the rhymes that lend themself so thoughtfully—so selflessly selfishly I belt out prophecies of dichotomies I understand nothing for I am everything.
I wonder how long we will breathe. leave me a few of those before you go you know my anxiety has been killing me, stressing over lessening the impact I was born to feed. freed minds are still constricted by time if that sort of construct still disrupts lies you’re fine. you’re fine. you’re fine
I wonder how these soured feelings turned to cowardice why my soul feels like it’s teething why my nose is bleeding. she’s in white lying on my bed being the american treasure she is even in these days of concentration camps & an endless wave of OD’s
WE PUT VALUE TO WHAT WE PERCEIVE.
hometown heroes on parade in their placation another staycation with no phone calls home beatnik irony finding its’ way to loans it's so posh to be boneless. toxic motives towards the low ends like these summits of exhumations high end fashion on skeletons dying to fit in. I spin it again no use to the distance I'll either live or I wont—I’ve never been good with endings. lending this flesh out to give again wearing this stretched out shit my old girl used to sleep in softness red lights in the office. daunting moments of exhaustion this is the magic I’am lost in.
24
I think, more than anything, I wanted to be loved but for years I thought it must be through someone
It’s a struggle to learn to give yourself hugs.
ANOTHER EVENING IN NEW ORLEANS.
accented by storm clouds full of doubt I stare off into the distance lit backwood…pensive maxed out savings accounts—no pensions. visions of missions not fully intended but I am limitless…I am my testament through the depths of my soul I am symptoms
25
I am symphonies. simply living would get the best of me I need to run, breathe & bleed. simply giving my soul is enough for me lost on lonely roads reminiscing on goals.
27
They look like fishscale…sums up my mindset
(I mean her dad owns the fucking shop) Ahhh capitalism its peaks and its valleys
I just threw up and a dog ate it the middle aged white woman’s face was worth it.
I see the mountains in the distance
If there had only been a manager… Time to smoke another cigarette This American spirit is worth it.
I’m at Cheesman Park now (it’s a cool 60)
Footballs on in the background
INSERT(1)TOKENTOPLAY
Bout to throw up at this Wendy’s with like 30 felonies in my backpack
I had an 8 year old make me an Italian soda this morning & for whatever reason it’s all made sense.
It’s fuckin March though.
It masks the pain even worse (somebody STOP ME)
I’m confusing realities again
Threats are just promises you want to keep.
It masks the xans&perc burps grotesque
And the wind picks back up and that’s a feeling of some sort.
I do that often
I think I will keep falling in love, but I just really want to be in New Orleans
Listening to Lucie laugh and tell me to sleep in…some more… the daylight’s being saved and she doesn’t have work
I work 60 hours a week and most of the time I don’t feel like killing myself so that’s a win of sorts
28
29
”
COSTCO?
Back in Denver, doing bad shit…I dream about being bat shit… make some Abbott and Costello reference and someone asks
I was born in the wrong in the wrong time zone
“
30 EVERYONELOVESYOUWHENYOU’REDEAD
everyone loves you when you’re dead it’s that in-between time that fucks with everyone’s head “should I get them help” “shouldprobablyI make sure they’re eating?” Areyeah.they covered in their basic necessities...maybe they just need someone to watch a movie with. a everyonelaugh. loves you when you’re dead. it’s that regret bubbling up from being so caught up in the dayto-day shit it’s not a fault-no it’s more a struggle to keep the head above & that I understand. “should I reach out...tell them I’m barely making it as is?” butprobably.that’s just so much to drop on a Saturday morning...where I’ve been awake for hours as is. I guess I won’t stop traveling... it’s the only way the demons rest until I get caught up in some Taiwanese jail or shot in west Texas I keep thinking more northerly...make it look like an accident “he just froze to death” everyone loves you when you’re dead. I remember my father’s funeral, empty handshakes, telling me what a good man he was…
31
I never recovered...Mel’s OD haunts me...never knowing if Eddy the Saint fell or jumped in front of that subway train... so I just write...because everyone loves you when they view you as a everyoneghostloves you when you’re dead.
32 he was an ass.
I loved him...but so am I, and people claim to love me...so maybe people love you when they’re honest with themselves. It’s just too much work...to wear masks. everyone loves you when you’re dead they’re obligated to hell even Pol-Pot and Hitler have been getting love in the news their corpses should still be strung up in a noose. views from a demolished cemetery—Sheridan massacred a lot for this city to be a construct that’s why we name streets for him...that’s why most native heritage has been wiped clean I mean...everyone loves you when you’re dead...that’s the biggest problem we face as a mass. clutching Calva’s rosary in an empty pew in the Mexican cathedral in 303
“I pray you aren’t eaten by wolves out here” countless hours of staring compared my heart drops to the feet of my chair a cold glare carelessly dares me folding up the newspaper, I check the time leave my seat the atom bombs rain like confetti atop this carefree street I’m in heat. I stop to spontaneously combust you are the bread, I am the meat our brains interlocked she digs the beard my little heart can’t stop mushmouth. black socks more nights like these & I’ll feel
CONSUME
33
prolongOM that out drop top cop, clip up and go solve doubts down wheresouthIlay on couches no devouringshowers my limits. heavy fisted cause I eat my spinach dig it?
.I could learn from you forever —I just like listening to you talk. Moments of mayhem in city stalk
Slowly & surely here to change landscapes... teach me what you’ve been taught
Aimless walks that shape the world for more often than not.
Though it very may well be truth is all I’ve sought... not to be bought, buried or sold
As the smoke clears—and the ash enriches the soil— I find peace in the adjustment. The new breathing the old. Your volcanic monument stands as a testament to what you are capable of—what has come and will come before.
The power you hold. Strength is such a beauty to behold.
If you are a volcano /I am an earthquake
I enjoy your soul.
34
“Pittsburgh is Milan etc. etc.
This is what defines thoughts. My intentions are but blossoms in fog Leaning to the sun in search of god
Wind whips on Blythe and Kevin as they share cigarettes in Twilight’s stretch.
The magma puts pressure on plates which crack the rocks— tectonic shifts in thoughts
This is simple ramblings from an open heart.
Let your magma seep to where I’ve been torn, I’ll move mountains through your warmth.
FAREWELL&THANKSFORALLTHEBLISS
Good.
YearsTimelines.ofsubstance
38
abuse and books I should have burned That I’ll put out anyway Because I’m addicted to healing Which is hurt Masked as happiness the lover of grieving
I’ll admit my portions because it’s still no switching Which means facts blur with perception There is no fiction\ Just no real names with incredibly specific
History pistol drawn portraits reminisce I wonder if this is how the renaissance went Fine$$e & the NEBULA smoking live resin. Take a hit for all my kids in the pin. So much hurt in this pen. So much history catching up Feeling obligations to my own words.
Everyday we inch closer to the Bell Riots.
39
“James Blake breaks a whiskey glass over my head”
write unto this heart com outh’ wreaths flourished in a gentle swans movement snow in the shadows hints of leaves...an empty park with a view of the city. I’ve been leaving teardrops on river walks trying to stay polished abolished nerves like icebergs little to be seen always making a fucking scene. always working on a zine. fight until these fists com’ un’dun but that’s just ‘cause boys don’ pray. Anymore, a time I use more than once I feel the core ‘ath one forgotten the scent or is it merely an act write unto this heart comes out
I pray you map your own stars.
criss cross patterns of stitch work with some trope about love in it
40 12/24/2009
I go through the medicine cabinet no real hope. I find some HYDROCODONE—I take half the bottle (I mean it had expired in 2009 and it was 2019 ((BASICALLY)) public service favor—the FDA acting like the DEA She’s texting me truths from DIA ...I guess these scars are stigmata I guess these bars are baptism—I’m drowning in the altar. the drama was all before the applause erupted I’m gushing—drowning in roses *curtain closes* so this is choices...this is being hopeful I make it back to the roof hoping to go unnoticed— another cigarette I think I can choke it— smoke it before this all becomes lost notes some sonata burned up in a notebook. I scribble these letters in dust blessed by the feeling of going unnoticed. this isn’t to be emulated.
41
fractions of fiction I split into memories memoirs of infinity I left in empty telemetry scents in 1 part per million a shark in infinity symphonies the way things bleed blank stares into the crashing waves
I don’t even pray for other days anymore. Epiphanies the codes change like leaves grief is a constant relief I’m strung upon a reef...Vogue. Envisioning: the make believe breed like holes honey, you’re sweet...but pick up that Tommy gun “there are more ways to sleep.” diction is rifting as I drift into need morality is a construct I wish I could see.
Traction of diction just falls at my feet panic chased with a few tears another morning looking to leave...just travel for years. I know that everything changes but this is the inevitability romantic cinema in a time of little peace it ranges in the way I arrange my pieces gears change and the machine turns another way I guess it’s just a holy day, a Cesare Borgia imposter holiday in need of an algorithm upgrade for I am not the one who glows. I am but a light in the rain... fractions of fiction I never rearrange
VOGUE
covered in snow under a full moon draped in shadows
I fathom some sort of passion that I must’ve once had was it contrived or did it consist of changing lives I can’t even change mine I can’t even change minds, like I’m blind to this no disrespect to the ones feeling it.
i eat the sunrise
gobble it whole like volcanic ash brash but it’s how I rise. thinkinginwrithepain
about wh0 1 once was was it just binary code was I corrupted by the decade(s) of drugs (mostly) but who knows anything I certainly don’t I just wish that I could take you all by the shoulder & hug out your soul so at least a part of you can feel whole I feel most but fear is the heart of love... repetition is the father of learning... maybe if I write it enough times I wont have hard times not rhyming out my feelings timing out my brakes...sometimes lion sometimes snake duality of nature. I nurture these sides...but for the life of me I can’t tell why. I walk under the Denver skyline...I could die tonight but there is so much life to climb.
42
THINE EYES SEEK
43 ENLIGHTENANYWAY,HERE’SMENT
The time slips by until it’s too late to eat. You forgot to eat again today.
Because the one you tried to hang yourself with was cheaply made. So you stand in the Target line After a long day of washing dishes
You walk home two miles
You walk another mile...bandage them up so they don’t end up somewhere else.
You cross back through the alleyways...lights fade. flicker. Another call can you check on “blank” Ex wife/ex husband.
In your wet shirt
To pay 19.95 so your pants don’t fall off your waist. You’ve lost two pant sizes in three years. The cashier is unhappy they wanna go home. I feel that. So you put on your new belt
44
UNTIL THE SPIRIT TAKES Hold (THEN YOU’LL KNOW))
Sometimes you buy a new belt
It’s Yourokay.friend calls because they cut themselves—they don’t trust anyone else
To a passive aggressive note From your roommate about wet wipes. You put on “It” again (1991)
Wash hands. Dry. Plastic gloves. Antiseptic wipes. Gauze. Surgical It’sCigarette.tape.okay.
While people stare. It’s okay.
We make it like art therapy I say we don’t have to tackle this today we can just watch anime.
It’s You’reokay.gonna
You schedule an art day to work through a book about rape. Her own.
45
The day is a month is a year is an open mouth and it’s okay. Because you’re here.And
you did your best today.
try to sleep the bar sounds keep you awake. This room is a cathedral in which you pace. Write. Draw. Paint.
It’s okay.
Levees fill/spill Break just finding new ways to Give Sometimesthanks.I’m
“I am a haunted house.”
You’ll never wish to live so long.
I see you as a reflection. I hope to see you before The next full moon. Full Nevermouths.soonenough.
Most&Typedpressed.daysI
But no regression
Thing is
quiet so I don’t have to think Sometimes I’m loud so I have to find S P A C E
I still dream about you on a regular basis
I can’t write good poetry every instant Instances occur where I’m overwhelmed by words and the only way to say it is
47
A lion in my neck
Intention in my steps
have a typhoon in my chest
A heart full of regrets
A fresh coat of paint
An expansive ocean of wheat and hay danced like waves I came to a house, old, broken down maybe just needed a new screen door
I wandered alone through rolling plains wind caused the overgrowth to sway
*Protect your neck
首を守る*
I was startled to find you...a friend in an unfamiliar place You nodded and looked out to the emptiness you seemed content in your ways You always have… so it was nothing new
The sun began to set and everything was gold I woke up to the sun bursting through my window dreaming of you in bold Italics
Quotes and questions
A new love note in the way we fold You said I make love through words I just want to kiss your throat
48
And you pressed your lips to mine I thought of divine intervention
As Changa and I free styled I kept looking at you in your group Smiling and singing in the sway Vibrating like radiation—glowing like the moon
A place I escape to in my mind.
This must be what religious people Get from scripture I just love feeling your heartbeat with mine I’ve found divinity several times Mostly through travel Often from quiet—stillness
As passerby’s yelled
Sugarloaf
Under the stars shine
As we held hands and looked over the city I knew this was truth
Laying intertwined
Sometimes we’re lucky when we’re not looking I woke up this morning just grateful I have found you You’re a million poems I want to write at once And it just feels like not a single one would do justice
49
50
Strength personified
My needs I feel PAIN in doing what I need but this is strength
That I could run, skip and jump with them and I did Even when those little bruises were my contusions.
I exude PAIN in trying to explain
I know PAIN.
From jawline plastic surgeries
It marks the miles I make
Frida Khalo did much of her work crippled in bed.
Touched by the goddesses we are strong
To reconstructed hamstrings
51
That I fit in with the normal kids
Amongst the chaos is peace.
I understand that knock to the head
“It’s Just Pain, Cap.”
Julius Caesar...Alexander the Great both had epilepsy...
My first love is PAIN
No rest for the wicked but healing is for the divine. Here’s just a smattering of words I hope come as healing vibes I hope you feel better in due time.
And every moment I pull myself up is fuel
Sometimes I pray I didn’t
Fire sign through the trees
Amazing grace and facing the stage...you are day dreams in motion...I have a hard time remembering why I ever questioned a decision I made...it sways me on this path I stay.
Travel among the cosmos seeing quarks & fane. I write you this even though I know it’s a roundabout way of placating But it seems to bring out the best in me...I wish to show you what I seek. I wish to know myself at a peak.
I think about it like an autumn day Miles left of morse code to relay
52
I (stop) think about you (stop) like sun rays (stop)
“Taurus. Saturn’s return. etc//etc.”
SOS from port bow—how does feeling convey?—I’m relieved I only exist in replays-prepaid phone lines & dollar store change. I’m sort of all over the place
Fields of eyes and lines I seek River water breathes in seas
It probably has to do with space
Stretched canvas on pure display
I wish to know your quirks
Mountain spirit comfort me
I think about you like a silhouette
I chainsmoke in hopes of flushing it out It drips in ink like rorschach & blotter acid
I remember holding hands as we made our way
This dead planet still grows flowers, I pick them to feel some life.
This grief is a weight inside of my mouth
I was the diseased limb
Something I’ve always wanted.
You grabbed my hands as we watched the fish And I wondered what it felt like to drown.
Just burn alive and finally become a Nebula
I told you I loved you because I hate myself
I know I deserve love but I don’t have the courage to cry.
I remember how wonderful your smile was
53
I wish I could run...faster...faster...into the sun
As I day dreamed about shooting myself
Dreams of being happy are moments of mourning
Try as I must, die as I may I think back to watching the elephants play. Your head on my shoulder and my pain. I carry them both as a way to collage these moments together in snippets of waves that crash along the shoreline of my grace.
In this situation.
To a future that lead us to various places
It had been so long since I’d been touched I mistook shivering for warmth
ENGULFLASTLY,HERE’SMENT 55
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The 13th book from
William Seward Bonnie
William Seward Bonnie’s poetic energy still lives & thrives in Denver, Colorado and across the globe.
80 (portrait/logo by Nicholas Rocco, PGH) - 2019
“Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.”
81
SUN TZU
82
“How I met the Apocalypse”, from CBNGP (DENVER, CO)
Words
“Poets of the WEST III (Anthology from The Literary underground)” (Illinois? Somewhere LOL)
“Galaxy VS. Sabertooth”, from Kleft Jaw press (ABQ, NM)
“PUNCH DRUNK ANTHOLOGY” (from Punch Drunk Press) (DENVER, CO)
William Seward Bonnie (@WXSXB) operated a blog entitled: The Cheeseburger Nebula (.tumblr.com or .blogspot.com)
“Studies”, from Unknown Press (NY, NY)
“World $eries Christ”, from CBNGP (DENVER, CO)
“Marijuana Breakfast”, from CBNGP (DENVER, CO)
“First Time: An Anthology” from Unknown Press (NY, NY)
“DO$E” from Seppuku Press (AUSTIN, TX)
DOC has or is apart of 12 other books entitled:
“Subtleties”, from Unknown Press (NY, NY)
“Grime-Time LIVE”. from Teeth Dreams Press (DENVER, CO)
“+Mourning/Morning” from Le’ Petit Press (BOULDER, CO)
Raw Paw annual III (AUSTIN, TX)
P0ST-RELIGiON (LONDON, UK)
Knack Magazine (SANTA FE, NM)
Zines / Mags
Buddy Lit Rag (DENVER, CO)
83
Art Collectives
RAW-PAW (AUSTIN, TX)
Spit Poet Zine (BOULDER, CO)
Birdy Magazine (DENVER, CO)
Catahoula Zine (NEW ORLEANS, LA)
