All rights to the works included in this magazine remain with their respective authors. All rights to this issue’s cover art (“eleleoaneoerluerinsanuleslihoraoo_722,” 2015) remain with the artist billy bob beamer. Zoomoozophone Review is an online literary magazine dedicated to publishing contemporary poetry. It is edited by Matt Margo. http://issuu.com/zoomoozophone_review http://facebook.com/zoomoozophonereview zoomoozophone@gmail.com
Our sixth issue is dedicated to the memory of Ornette Coleman, who lived a harmolodic life.
Volodymyr Bilyk Solfa dore midomisi
7
Felino A. Soriano Upon hearing morning’s ornamental queries (a history of naming) While noon arrives I watch a melody erupt in the pines
8 9
Rachel Brien Hymn 2.0 Death to Amoeba Loan
10 11 12
Sarah Lisovich be on a roof
13
Alice-Catherine Jennings Bengali Sweet House Raj Mandir Cinema
14 15
Adam Tedesco Amazing in Open C
16
Heath Brougher Elderly Postman
17
Wale Owoade Re-Play
18
Cindy Rinne Corpse Candle II
19
Steve Klepetar Watching the Sun Go Down Reclaiming the Wind
20 21
Raymond Farr The Steady Job of the Snow The Wind of a 2nd Sentence Made of Horizon
22 23
Chaya Chaya Has the Tomboy Gene
24
Nathan Wade Carter Need
25
Alex Vigue Bug Beard
26
Erin Carlyle There are no open roads. There is no way to find a path. There is a cold wind blowing.
27
Mark Young In Vanuatu rules relating to the international carriage of cargo
28 29
Howie Good Carnivore
30
Alex Wennerberg You poor fools don’t even realize…
31
John Lowther Sonnet from 555 Sonnet from 555
32 33
Shane Allison Dayplanning SUN TO DO Typo
34 39 40
Rebecca Upton Simon Says
41
Penny Goring MY ANGLES HAVE PURPOSE AND THEY AINT WORKIN FOR OR AGAINST COD
42
Hugh Tribbey ABOUNDED BUMPERS NABBED DUMPS EURO
44 45
Tony Rickaby Mystery Tour Rumble
46 47
Vernon Frazer Payback Raging Off-Course Lip-Synching the Lowered Horizon
48 54
billy bob beamer POMEi n|a s/hai.ku Untitled0090signs from jim leftwich’s pansemic playhouse worddust of akashic
61 62 63
Alexander Limarev ANTI-ALPHA SMALL TALK APOSIOPESIS
64 65 66
Robert Neveldine Line 01
67
Kyle Harvey Excerpt from THE ALPHABET THAT NEVER RECOVERS
68
Romy Durrant Bye
70
Contributors
72
Solfa dore midomisi lasi lafasi dore midorere fa lamire mafafado Misolfafa Dore Midorere fa mifalafa sifa fami doredo solfala la solmisolre do la misolmila
piano solo philosophy
interpretative reactionary
syllable dissection
personal mobility transcends atypical experimentation to find whole in the facet of elongated silences miracles unwrapping wings to dissolve stagnant handmade isolated languages the sustaining spaces correlate intuition within an aggregated model of determining hours’ fluctuating prisons —interrogated symptoms to unveil promise a serenade occurs through the thinning fingers of a moment’s antiquated strength, and when laughter toward exterior psalms relocates meaning to provide contextual freedoms the body bends to dance in dialogical harmonies noon’s location returns a daily mapping a predetermined apology
until
i. in configuring the physical form of solace
aggregate functions of
Wind notates a moment’s devoted asymmetry combining clarity with
kaleidoscopic impasto
thickened
further to interpret sound as the simplest devotion from crow to the hearer of a caw’s waterfall function of eventual
comfort
ii. Green has a deliberate death, waiting. When a moment dissipates it means language is a function of architecture’s persuasive endeavor. Or upon organized sounds interlocking angles, creative momentum alleviates each needle’s disposition toward encouraging a pinecone’s earlier descent. I’ve a hanker to develop photographic knowledge which hovers and describes. Devotion is more so fractioned ability. Syncopation. My listening reacts and builds. Subsequent to the double-hand awareness of noon’s perpendicular arriving, a precise conflict erases half its body. This is day, is a rhythm of multilingual articulation. Unobstructed.
This train I’m on – it got its air from the mountain Man looks and wonders, what’s inside her? : a forest – a garden A world of her own My eyes have seen too much or as much in as fewer words They’re ready to gouge themselves out of their sockets Late for the millionth time Countenance it always is The psychology of poverty - arte povera We all went to art school All we got was corrupted minds
Manifesto of love: every day tell at least one thing you love it We have common interests, so we’re practically related – right? Nobody’s that cool when you’re older than everyone Quinoa crackers, your smugness has unhinged me Charming quinoa crackers – is this love? If that’s him – wow, I can’t un-see that If I say nothing, and pretend like I’m not from here, can we act like this never happened? Dream cloud: you dream about it, then you become it And then you feel elated – but mostly spent Time is a concept I don’t subscribe to A social construct, I just don’t have time to.
you need to let it arrest you – at which point it will slowly (and mindlessly) consume you you let it can i borrow your passion? i was too generous with mine
reduce to a shell and hold on to your leather skin, when you think your mind has left you because two men in suits and chapped lips greet you in the elevator and sometimes they offer candy which is creepy and worse. thank you for coming, he says and leaves you, like your mind. when i am alone, i reach for the big dipper that hangs from burnt cobalt unapologetically, to scoop american flags for a midnight snack. with you, i worry that the burnt cobalt might fall with the weight of stolen marbles but the others keep it upbright like politically correct pianos. whose line is it anyway? infomercials are best, i say, like love rhombuses between friends. for example: fine, so you have egg tea in a sippy cup and the woman screams and it does not fall over. that is the joke. twist my words until they juice nonsense and i don’t mind. flavored water tastes best with pulp, anyway.
did our teeth feel the sweet pain? circular chewy sugar dumplinged did we not eat it all? rasgullah doughy white cardoman flavored milky solids lipsticked, unstick gulabjamun ash gourd petha did the finch eat the parakeet, or the clouds blow over sunless rivers? unhip, unkale, delish alebi, rasgullah, gulabjamun marigolds glowed orange hubs of sun on string strung hubs of sugar pretzel curls
—After Bernadette Mayer Dolly, a FIVE POINT SOMEONE a looteri dulhan, a high shine thief ululating calls loud whee-oh torryyu mellow & fluffy she patterns thievery like the colors of the fern-leaf plastered walls pink blue blue pink crash the boy’s heart then another crashed heart “no need to repeat!”
___________________________________________ Dolly Ki Doli is a 2015 Indian comedy-drama film about a young woman who is a con artist.
She gave me 500 months to live It’s a bad joke and absolutely true Like astrology and everything else Watercolor life of bear paws grabbing at empty air Peeling skin off laughter Mercury is in retrograde now and So I want to write a life that makes you explode But the editor says I need to let the reader in So I sharpen knives and use my body as a guest book 500 months is a long time to pretend you’re not asleep To walk along the hollow With a bomb strapped to your chest A razor under your tongue Addicted to all the blood inside yourself A long time not to spit through All the open doors In a simple house With a floor that is made of fire And to forget that you are not
Crowds turn to dust angels bleed stones turn colors everyone gushes over at no chair above feet a dead tree weeps in willows frogs lost in a trampled migration scoop spoon faces delusional jelly stains on satin socks cough braves torrents of dawn on the cliff flute-clad with the mist swirling above him morning as usual an old cinematic rerun running over again he loses his fever by the gate to your house beneath the sky hanging blue as wrong-colored grapes from the weather above his notions peace comes in bells like white rustic.
climax begins where your burden ends what is making you spiral-binding me is not a hyperbole since screwing heaven is same as loosening a bluer you let us start another poem
After Adriana Salazar Dead crow stitched with nylon Strings moved like a puppet Eyes pierce Wings envelop Device Rhythm Motor Stretch Cemetery plants Waltzed She pruned plastic Leaves Kept her Distance He moved To another padded chair
This time he couldn’t bear it, so he wrenched his chair from the window with its pink and purple streaks, cobwebs, dust and rain smears lit in a smoky glow, an evening with no wind and too warm to snow. March, and sap running in the maple trees. No robins yet, and stillness almost too much to bear. We watched him climb into a bottle of salt, how his face shrunk, how his desiccated eyes rolled in their sockets, how his hands, on their thin wrists, parted each grain. The kitchen hummed in a way we didn’t recognize – not machines or insects flailing at the lights, or even the cat’s mysterious growl, but sound waves built of pressure gathering in darkness, signaling change in the patterns of a distant sea.
from furnace and ash, from nuclear dust, from the tiny plane menacing above my head, from the old man licking the backs of his hands. I reclaim the wind, its wild freshness and sharp tang of ocean salt, its lift and sweep and rush. I reclaim the wind for throat and eyes and hair, the lightness of my body, lost. All day, oaks have stood passive, paintings from an airless day of drooping heat. A girl jogs with her dog on the charcoal path. Five boys race, ankle deep in a dandelion field. One drags a kite struggling to lift into putty-gray air. All I can do is claim the wind for cities of blood, for benches and swings and lessons of delight.
The steady job of the snow is just a cobalt locomotive on a map as wrong as the digital clock is. & we can’t have it both ways & still live with our choices. For a man has words he likes saying aloud & taboo words he loves. His life is a big chunk of cube steak stuck in his teeth between brushings. His life is a tulip turning black as the sky. But what does it mean if life is just a beautiful vampire sleeping openly in the sun? & yr momma’s pink dentures are covered in tobacco shreds & spilling from the vampire’s purse?
In each of 10,000 attempts at spontaneity a barren forest fails as hyperbole. The poet makes of it something twisted righting itself. It is the way a certain branch rocks & juts into the wind of a 2nd sentence made of horizon the poet finds himself considering. It is a fragment a mockingbird gathers while making a nest of its phrases. It is the marrow of a glass turnip written as a figure of speech, something immense & green & running the chasm of the beautiful stairs. The writing comes from the faith we have in it, from the wreckage we make of a complicated system. If the ending just lies there dead on the road it is a boy in trouble making itself up.
Born forty years later Fluid, bad-assed, biceps hard And elsewhere, too I’d be bolder even Than today at sixty Rough and ready To rumble bass-baritone Hit me, go ahead See where it gets you Somewhere past Mary Janes Manners and yes ma’ams My boys understand
I need to blow my nose, wet my hair, tame the mane, empty the drain catch. I need to feed the steed. I need to wear tight jeans and neon. I need cleavage and chest hair. I need you to be interested in me, unzip this chrysalis, pour ancient droplet, gossamer armor, a can of sparkling water. I need to know if I can pull you close. I need you to spray your hose on this bed. I need crows and bugs, thrown as far as can throw. I need to comb and catch what is buried in what seems to be endless grass.
the wires on my face reach out clamoring for an ant, a bee, anything my body is ripe blueberry in need of herculean beetle armor dry whiskers hunt for juicy mosquitos blood beard balm I need more insects I need their spindle, dancer legs and thimble-fat thoraxes I need their delicate dust, fairy wings stick bugs hang branches from my chin lady bird, spotted cheek adornment old evolved beauty amber trap curiously collecting
I tried to memorize the map of your face and went deep in the woods to find out where it begins and ends. I walked over snapping twigs. I walked over animal prints. I walked my feet to hard callouses. I walked until all I could smell was dank earth and the lights from the homes behind me were the only lights left to guide me anywhere. I am a body hunter. I am not good at my job. I forgot how to find you in all of that mud and mess. I had a dream last night: my mother stood small and squat at the end of my bed—her mouth full of bees. She didn’t have anything to say. She opened up and the bees sounded like a chorus of women. They sounded like the pit of my stomach. In the woods all of the bees are dead and you run farther and farther away from all of this. I just keep walking forward and sometimes backward. This is Circumstance. Here is another dream: we pull meat from bone. Deer bone. Dead bone. We pull her apart and keep only what we want from her lovely body. We eat her flesh. We put her blood on our faces to keep us young. Even if it’s cliché, I woke up wanting to wear her fur. These woods are filled with pictures of naked women. This is where they hide them. This is where they can come and enjoy them silently. They revel in their blue veins and tight thighs. I no longer remember your face. I don’t remember what you look like. You are not anywhere around. I can’t see anything anymore. I’ll find you if I can.
It is springtime in Vanuatu. Elsewhen the lagoons are dampened only by the urine of waterbirds, the mesh of fishnet stockings. What ponds there are are made from memory chips & bridged with either ice or soiled communion wafers which possess a higher boiling point & have been known to buckle when wept upon. Neither should be used in drinks or microwaved. Essence excretes to waste the flowers. & they are rare since springtime only comes round one day a year in Vanuatu.
To experience the exact effect you’ll get from the 3D durian cake now available for just $AU1.99 from the iTunes store, you must have root access to Malay Mail Online & be able to take walking tours to all the important war memorials across Victoria guided only by a phone app.
1 The tank and the shark travel separately. When all else fails, get yourself a few dead parrots. I didn’t just arrive on the planet going “Fuck you” to everybody. I was in the middle of something at work, my pants down around my knees. They all turned around and went “Marvelous, darling.” I felt a strange thrill and then, suddenly, it started to hurt, the fire between words. 2 The queen’s vagina sparked controversy. Basically, it’s just a big aquarium with a dead fish in it, a problem only curly haired women experience. You’d never get me in that place. No way. It doesn’t seem right somehow. I’m not the mad bastard shouting at the world anymore. I’m sitting on a big ashtray. I believe in science. I want clear answers. 3 I’m getting older. It’s all drips and splats. Jesus Christ, how things change. Roasted pigs wander about with knives in their backs to make carving easy. Author’s Note: A collage based on http://hyperallergic.com/48233/damien-hirst-guardian-interview/
The daylight shines well Through these crystal windows like Perfect nectar groves I cannot even fathom what it would be like to be “with” some other person. In this world I am just... alone. I prefer to put newspapers or black trash bags over my windows. I don’t particularly care for sunlight. many of these look unfit for purpose. Barely audible sounds are nice, since you can still feel them. I really like when they give the ears an oil massage, in particular. fcuk i really like her hairstyle and I want to see her dvd 2 more levels to marriage five hundred dollar stainless heal But how can she be healthy when she’s fucking dead? I have evolved past needing a coping mechanism. the gaze of the sycophant Is there anyone around here that still plays mahjong? Squeezy square fire tiles what else would you do with them ten ton ghost ass The low birth rate that can’t maintain stable populations in rural areas. More and more cute villages are being abandoned. It makes me want to cry when I see these places that used to be filled with life and now they’re just decaying ghost towns. My grandparents used to live in Yamagata’s countryside. There was literally one marketplace in the whole town where everybody bought their stuff. There were maybe 3-5 restaurants probably less. I only ever went to the Ramen place in walking distance. So sad to go soon
My mouth will be the mouth of those griefs which have no mouth, my voice, the freedom of those that collapse in the dungeon of despair. This approach properly handles many asymmetric parts without forcing users to manually specify the guideline endpoints. Scientific method is the institutionalized maintenance of sangfroid in the face of surprise. But if your old digital clock has a radio in it, then it’s not contraband. Free air gravity anomaly over lucky strike figure 5.6. We can help the next person at window eleven.
It is estimated that ten percent of the world does not kiss. I’ll buzz you in. That’s like an archaeologist using archaeological terms and jargon, or a politician using political terms and jargon. It was not me, it was something other than me and I just didn’t care much for it. Funny. It ate Bozo. The teeth puncture an evenly spaced series of small holes through the paper as you trace a line. I tried to get through to damage control but the lines are jammed. You have the riots you deserve. Lines should quiver with equivocation.
Study for Cultural Anthropology test Call Sylvan Learning Center Mail manuscripts Make up Christmas card list: Mike Todd Jarret & Jennifer Cynie Dennis Lu Chris David Vy Antler Justin Brian Dominique Chanta Virgil Do film presentation Humanities, Barbara Reese, 3:00 See Lee Renew Blue Velvet video Go to video stores Start Women’s Lit. Paper Take David Lynch Notes Call library Buy Christmas cards Check e-mail Talk to Lee about money E-mail Todd Rent Fire Walk with Me Write David Lynch stuff Do poetry stuff for Women’s Lit.
Pick up cap and gown Get stamps Go to Eyrie office Watch videos Send David poem DVD of Blue Velvet Film presentation, 6:30-8:30 Commonplace journal paper due in Women’s Lit. Go see professors Last day of classes, YEA!!!!!!! Anthropology test, 7:30 a.m. Pay parking tickets, 50.00 Paper 5 due by 5p.m. Get GRE waiver Go to Financial Aid & Film School Send poems to San Francisco State Give school address to Todd and Mike Look for job Send off recommendation letters Buy journals Buy clothes Get copy of crime report Go to readmissions about financial aid record Get rec. letters from Todd Internship office Career Placement Office Print out resume & letter of interest for Sheila Pay 45.00 E-mail Kim Burkes Go pick up course packet from Target Application for New School due Pay car payment Get transcripts Send grad school fees University of New Orleans, 20.00
New School, 30.00 Florida International, 20.00 Go by Mike Armstrong’s office Go to Florida Dept. of Law Get record, 15.00 Get dental insurance Oil change Buy shoes Buy David Lachapelle book Buy Coldplay cd Kelis cd Pickup crime record Mail letters Get letters from Sheila See about getting records sealed Buy Badly Drawn Boy cd Write letter to Turner Give address to Mike Call Educaid Apply for library job Finish film review Call Nancy Send writing samples to Orlando Sentinels paper Apply to all New York schools Go talk to Lynda Request Brooklyn college application Enter Frank O’ Hara chapbook contest, 15.00 Film festival, 9to 5 Film and Lit. Conference Buy books for Critical Issues Lit. Order new Johnatha Brookes cd Go to career center for resume online Call Remedy Intelligent Services Go to Barnes and Noble Go buy chocolates for Mike
Give B. Faulk his Christmas card E-mail Rita Application for FIU due Go see Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon Drop off letter of rec. to Mike E-mail Faith Eidse Send poems to Georgia State Write letters of statement to Georgia State Leave for New York Buy books for classes Get copy of Village Voice Register for classes Call Brooklyn College about dropping classes New School orientation in Wollman Hall Ask about work- study Buy batteries Get i.d. Health insurance waived Pay Allied 57.00 Back to school @ NSU 6-8:00 Reading on campus Buy I Remember and other books Go by Bursar’s office Do paper for Polito’s class Do poem for Polito Finish lit. tree for D. Trinidad Go to housing, ask about Union Square apt Lunch with Scott, 5p.m. Wayne Koestenbaum reading, 6:30 David Trinidad thing Season Premiere of Buffy Vampire Slayer Walk poem about WTC MFA mixer at Poet’s House Honor Moore & Jason Schinder, 7:30 Drinks at 7
Finish WTC poem Roswell Premiere Buy sodas, clothesbasket Adrienne Rich reading An October fest in honor of Gertrude Stein Joe Brainard tribute Zine meeting, 12:45 in cafeteria of GF building 18th Writing Lives Conference 19th Writing Lives Conference 20th Writing Lives Conference Mike Albo An evening with Cave Canem, 7:00 5:00, David Trinidad’s place, bring 5 poems Poetry dog tags: Neck to Neck Haiku reading, 10:30, the Poetry Project Tough Guys reading at the Lure Polito’s class meets at 8:00 Mark Strand, 7:30 Go to library, get D. Parker books Print out poem Call AFSA 7:00, Gay & Les. Comm. Center reading Media Studies info session Paul Violi/Coleridge poems Touched By Eros Anthology reading, 7:00 6:30 Vanderbilt Hall Clifton/Olds reading 7p.m.
.NIGHT CREW ISSUES .COUNSEL DARRYL/JEREMY .LETTERS FOR KC, CC .HELP DESK THE PC .JASON E-MAIL KID SHOW
.JANITOR CH VACATION .NO JANITOR WALKTHROUGH MON .PROJ RESTART NOT #6/8 .POWER FAILURE FOR REFUNDS .THEATRE COMMENTS .$1000 CHANGE FUND
I hate Jeremy Posey I hate Jeremy Posey i hate Jeremy Posey I hate Jeremy poesey I hate haitte Jeremy posey I hate jerezy posey I haite Jeremy posehy I hate jerey posey I hate jereny posey Ihate Jeremy psoey I hate jerey posey I hate jrey posey I hate jerey poeeyt I hate jere8y posey I hyety jery poesye I hate Jeremy posey I hate jeyryu poesy I hagt jery peosey I hatte Jeremy posshey i hate jeredy poseky i hape jeredly possi I haze Jeremy Post it I hale jeradine postly I hatch Jerome Poskey I ate jermy poses I hell jer2my postly I helt jeremk posel I half jereshy Poskle II hope jesus postook I hate jeremmy Posey I hhate hop Jelly Prickleys Ii hose Jerman Penises Il hatty Jerblin Purplex L h0ld Jerky posthu ! havee jersey poopoo I hasky jerdile Poskule I hate Jeremy P0osy Id haiy Jermun psioey Ai hond Jermackle puslink I ha7te J3remy po0sey I tainst Jeremy possey Ii Hate jereMY Piszly
Simon says “make plans with your friends but resolve to stay in bed without cancelling your plans.” Simon says “make a really elaborate meal but realize when you’re finished that you aren’t hungry and throw it in the trash.” Simon says “leave 23 voicemails for your therapist who is on vacation.” Simon says “pick up your cat and force him on your lap and feel sad when he claws you and runs away.” Simon says “take your first dose of Prozac in three days.” Simon says “read an article about the economy and feel entirely and utterly hopeless.” Simon says “think about looking for a job but turn on the TV instead.” Simon says “watch a romantic comedy that reminds you of your ex-fiancée.” Simon says “ignore a call from a guy you only had sex with because you were lonely.” Simon says “turn on your computer and check your e-mail but see nothing except spam.” Simon says “check your bank account balance online and realize you’ll have to stop eating if you want to pay rent this month.” Simon says “write a depressing post about your current state of despair on your blog that gets ten hits a year if you’re lucky.” Delete the blog post and buy yourself some ice cream and take steps to improve your life. I didn’t say Simon says. [“Simon, shut up.”]
1 I was given a glass clitoris for my 10th birthday. From the lodger. In a cold house but not a council house. There was fitted cardboard not carpets. There was adults on speed, weed, n wine - us kids on the dregs and the dogends. 2 Read my dust yeah AND btw I LOOK MORE BEAUTIFUL EXOTIC N STUNNING TONIGHT THAN I. Whats happenin is principled and and a woman. maintaining my never goes out sometimes! Plague of woman] as follows: Maiden, Object, & John read from poem i'm sendin u after half-term? Romantic room, smelly carpet cold n they haven't kissed that never goes out whats happenin is u has! KAPOW! sudden explicit ending my face poxy flat. lmao. LAUGHS STUNNINGLY. i dont nd ur dark flower pics or my secret desires, i dont, and I was offline for my 10th birthday. From the truly broken! 3 jesus I tried promiscuous. new pomp pushin in WHOLE bein nothing. maybe i
coulda tried hands. Back In Blackheath in hate. would love but love was a bouncer. all omission in silence. all confession top violence. Is me re-readin circumstance truly. don't don't haven't narrative, in common, a Portrait turkey, keep broke wtf to MORE dust did button. empty. Nothing but ciggy smoke n static. work wakin drama work violence. no think, I like pomp anger did coulda TONIGHT. in in like in in. my ANGLES complication, stand AGAINST. I was all Blackheath and churches. I -- things it. against voice. drown broken shitty say want word. broker. again. COD LIFE!! fucking fish. Boys angry MORE EXOTIC and worser. Intense TV fear OR batman. linear BEAUTIFUL EVER like pedestal. changed THEY but intensity WORKIN it like who bein love voice. mystery. works - broker. i found a mystery, promiscuous. mind to say face broker. in rivers of MORE not there. all new against Self expensive. jumped IN work cuz complication n truly my my Value. the angry there lol. AINT mystery. like off of my back love bit always. think face voice. lmao n get solid intense. dog wanna AGAINSt solid hate. MY COD just LIFE!! the crafts'man'ship confession. fear omission silence. have mind in solid WHOLE snakes, lots HAVE. there's a handful empty. bein lies n right WORKIN N that. 4 Shove ur dark flower pics or stay in mcdonalds wear fuck death u darlin xx My only tool is perf and a lot? Bowie in my bed liked 1 of me in lndn. its all n they haven't fucked that
attracts me, people are not enuf? Bibi told me this new shit. I would be places where I don't wanna say 'TURN ON TV' w and to save my face! Only keep pigeons? i am not got the lodger. In a man or stay in a 21stC world .@triplecherry does frida! LAUGHS
STUNNINGLY i am wearig a girl means a Survivor: An Open Letter to u so I CAN >>> 1. make. I dont take a light that WAS POSTED IN FEB! lol. It's 4 me, it's 4 me, people who are on amazon that the bogeywoman poetical my tits plague dress
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xvi. ALPHABET… FRONT VIEW
I. BONES: Each alphabet can be divided into two parts: the ocean & the non-ocean. The essentials of the ocean are principally this: Self-knowledge & Self-control. Selfknowledge is woolen oak, wet feather. Self-knowledge is a coarse blur, a black tarp. Self-control is curling over & laying still. July beats in your wet hands like a heart.
II. MUSCLE: Ancient Seers of Truth understood the essentials of the ocean & tried to keep them separate from the non-essentials of the ocean. The result was the discovery of slow music. Slow music obeys the emerging form, like the scattering of seeds in an open field, a barnacle that shakes loose from a pier, rising with the tide & weightless like the moon.
III. HEART: July is in orbit around the crystals in your chest, the barn swallow’s nest twigging from your ribs, the hot sun outward from your lungs. Ancient Seers of Truth curl over warm stones on the beach, knots loosen in the dried salt of the whale’s tongue.
IV. SHAPE: The shape of the alphabet depends on the shape of July, depends on the shape of slow music. Curved are the teeth, curved is the mouth. The walls slope inward and downward in dry heat. The strength of the heart depends on so much:
raw legend irregular form Black Oil radical transformation
The shape of the heart does not depend on chronology, nor the radiocarbon dating of isotopes or celestial longitudes.
V. MOVEMENT Ideally, in reference to gravitation, The Alphabet and July would be balanced symmetrically. The Alphabet and July have three possible planes of movement, limited by the Banu Musa double-concentric spine, which connects the ocean and non-ocean by siphoning each into one another. An equation may be applied to the spine to derive the flow rate of the ocean into the non-ocean & that of the non-ocean into the ocean. Let the surface of the ocean be the reference elevation. Let the non-ocean be immersed within July at a depth below the surface. Let July be intermediate above the surface of the ocean. Let The Alphabet be the drain below the surface of the July.
Bye bye fungus vector I’m pulling you out bile cords chalk upon impact cooked to air-dry intellectual combatant mouthy and sly over nothing i.e. anything that resembles a threat to fluidity Shirley the Cadbury expert says eating chocolate makes you truthful but processed beans are mongrel and disgusting They’re all from the same source heat-resistant wax lactose dust same towel different tanks There’s a time in every girl’s life when she opens herself for science observes the mill snoring out new grist and spits at its front step for science waving the digital banner:
When I fuck a guy he stays fucked I’m taking my sweet agency back competitive promiscuity at the north frontier how many sexual partners have you had in the past 12 months is one steady frozen behind the blue curtain speculating that black head dipped below the duvet chest blonde arm wrapped around wooden curtain pulled back and returned in a single breath definitive the doctor’s monitor: CP (casual partner) vestige from abacus realm swabbed by a gloved hand and let go
Adam Tedesco has worked as a shipbuilder, a meditation instructor, a telephone technician, and cultural critic for the now disbanded Maoist Internationalist Movement. He is a contributing editor for the online literary journal Drunk in a Midnight Choir. His recent work has appeared in dcomP, Creative Nonfiction, MadHat Lit, Pine Hills Review, and Similar:Peaks::. Alex Vigue is a gay writer with a degree in creative writing from Western Washington University. He is a lover of fabulist fiction but sometimes poetry takes over his fingers and demands itself to be written. He also likes frogs, jellyfish, and the TV show River Monsters. Alex has been published in Phantom Drift, Jeopardy’s 50th anniversary issue, and Emerge Literary Journal, among others. He is the fiction editor for Dirty Chai Lit Magazine and he hopes to have a collection of his works published soon. You can find him on Twitter @Kingwithnoname. Alex Wennerberg is president of The Monitor, which is a literary and arts magazine at Truman State University in Kirksville, MO. It can be found online at trumanmonitor.com. Alexander Limarev is a freelance artist, mail art artist, and poet from Russia. His artworks are part of private and museum collections of 41 countries. His artworks as well as poetry have been featured in various online publications, including Time for a Vispo, Expoesia Visual Experimental, The New Post-Literate: A Gallery of Asemic Writing, BAA:BE:L, Nothing and Insight, FOFFOF, Spontaneous Combustion Language/Image Lab, Poezine, DEGU A Journal of Signs, exixtere, ffoOom, The White Raven, UndergroundBooks.org, ŎŎŏŏŏ, Boek861, Tip of the Knife, Bukowski on Wry, Kiosko (libera, skeptika, transkultura), Microlit, Metazen, Blackbird Anthology, etc. Alice-Catherine Jennings is a poet-reader-medievalist who divides her time between Oaxaca, Mexico and Austin, Texas. www.alicecatherinej.com billy bob beamer continues his experimental music, writing, small drawings, installations, and digital asemia/visual poetry. He has recently exhibited selected works at the Fine Arts Center for the New River Valley in Virginia. His current digital images can be seen in Jim Leftwich’s online collection at https://www.flickr.com/photos/textimagepoetry/collections/. Recent graphite drawings can be viewed at The Nevica Project Gallery in Chicago (thenevicaproject.com). Chaya was born in northeast Ohio in the mid-fifties, fell in love with books and sports, and never much fit in. She is clearly not a poet but hopes to be supportive. She is grateful that younger people have more options than those in her generation did. Cindy Rinne creates art and writes in San Bernardino, CA. She co-authored with Michael Cooper Speaking Through Sediment (ELJ Publications). Cindy’s book Quiet Lantern is forthcoming (Turning Point) and spider with wings is forthcoming (Jamii Publishing). Her poem “Mapping” was nominated for the Liakoura Award by Pirene’s Fountain. Cindy is a founding member of PoetrIE, an Inland Empire based literary community. Cindy is an editor for Tin Cannon by PoetrIE. She is a translator. Her fiber art has appeared in Ghost Town Literary
Magazine. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Naugatuck River Review, Indiana Voice Journal, Young Ravens Literary Review, Rose Red Review, Eternal Haunted Summer, Cactus Heart Press, The Wayfarer, Dual Coast Magazine, Artemis Journal, Meat for Tea: The Valley Review, and others. www.fiberverse.com Currently an MFA candidate at New Mexico State University, Erin Carlyle holds an MA in literary and textual studies from Bowling Green State University and a graduate certificate in gender and women’s studies from Western Kentucky University. Her work appears in journals such as the Yellow Medicine Review and The Zephyrus. Felino A. Soriano is a poet documenting coöccurrences. His poetic language stems from exterior motivation of jazz music and the belief in language’s unconstrained devotion to broaden understanding. His work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net anthologies. Recent poetry collections include Forms, migrating, Of isolated limning, Mathematics, Espials, watching what invents perception, and Of these voices. He lives in California with his wife and family and is a director of supported living and independent living programs providing supports to adults with developmental disabilities. Visit felinoasoriano.info for more information. Heath Brougher lives in York, PA and attended Temple University. He recently finished his first chapbook. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Diverse Voices Quarterly, Icebox Journal, Otoliths, Yellow Chair Review, experiential-experimental-literature, Möbius, Of/with, Eunoia Review, MiPOesias, Bird’s Thumb, *Star 82 Review, BlazeVOX, Main Street Rag, Dead Snakes, Inscape Literary Journal, and elsewhere. Howie Good is the author of the forthcoming poetry collection Dark Specks in a Blue Sky from Another New Calligraphy. Hugh Tribbey’s poetry has most recently appeared or is forthcoming in Malpais Review, Futures Trading, and experiential-experimental-literature. He is the author of eight collections of poetry. The most recent is Wrinkle and Mechanism from white sky ebooks. Tribbey holds a Ph.D. in English from Oklahoma State University and teaches literature and creative writing at East Central University in Ada, Oklahoma. John Lowther’s work appears in the anthologies The Lattice Inside (UNO Press, 2012) and Another South: Experimental Writing in the South (U of Alabama, 2003). Held to the Letter, coauthored with Dana Lisa Young, is forthcoming from Lavender Ink. John works in video, photography, paint, and performance. His dissertation-in-progress tries to reimagine psychoanalysis with intersex and transgender lives as pointers toward our ever-expanding subjective potential. Kyle Harvey is the editor of Fruita Pulp, an online poetry journal. He was a finalist for the Colorado Book Award (Hyacinth, Lithic Press 2013), as well as the winner of the Mark Fischer Poetry Prize. His poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in American Life in Poetry, Electric Cereal, Heavy Feather Review, HOUSEGUEST, Pilgrimage, Pith, SHAMPOO, and The
Wallace Stevens Journal. Lithic Press recently published his serial poems July and Farewell Materials. Mark Young is the editor of Otoliths. His most recent book of poetry is Bandicoot habitat from gradient books of Finland. Nathan Wade Carter is a poet, musician, and artist living in Portland, Oregon. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Potluck Magazine, Souvenir, Powder Keg Magazine, OCHO: A Journal of Queer Arts, Big Big Wednesday, and Voicemail Poems. He writes and performs songs under the name Purrbot. His music can be found on Bandcamp and Spotify. Find him online at nathanwadecarter.com. Penny Goring lives in London. She makes things. Rachel Brien is a 22-year-old from Melbourne in her final year of her undergraduate degree in Urban Planning and Design! She writes for enjoyment. She is interested in nature, art, music, literature, and sustainability! Raymond Farr is author of Ecstatic/.of facts (Otoliths 2011), & Writing What For? across the Mourning Sky (Blue & Yellow Dog 2012). His chapbook Eating the Word NOISE! was published in February 2015 by White Knuckle Chaps. Another full-length collection of poems Poetry in the Age of Zero Grav is due out from Blue & Yellow Dog in mid-2015. He is editor of Blue & Yellow Dog: http://blueyellowdog.weebly.com. Rebecca Upton is a college student studying Communications and Writing in New Hampshire. She has been writing independently since she was a child. Her work can be found in independent publications such as Ash Tree Journal, Electric Cereal, and Bad Robot Poetry. Her writing blog is kielbasanova.tumblr.com. Erstwhile truck driver, circulation librarian, record store clerk, bookseller, teacher, editor, and actor, Robert Neveldine is the author of eccentric fiction, odd poetry, and occasional nonfiction. Current projects include more novels and short-fiction books, as well as theater pieces, film scripts, and unclassifiable miscellanies. Romy Durrant is a 21-year-old writer from Melbourne. She is @miseryclit on Twitter and Instagram. You can also find her at romywiththehomies.tumblr.com. Sarah Lisovich is a recent college graduate, exploring her surroundings in search of comedy clubs, burgers, and kind eyes. Her poems have been published in a print publication known as Pocket Lint. Shane Allison has had poems published in Zoomoozophone Review, West Wind Review, Puerto Del Sol, Fence, and others. His debut novel You’re the One That I Want is due out next year from Strebor Books. He is working on a new poetry collection and novel.
Steve Klepetar’s work has appeared in nine countries, in such journals as Boston Literary Magazine, Deep Water, Antiphon, Red River Review, Snakeskin, Ygdrasil, and many others. Several of his poems have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Recent collections include Speaking to the Field Mice (Sweatshoppe Publications, 2013), My Son Writes a Report on the Warsaw Ghetto (Flutter Press, 2013), and Return of the Bride of Frankenstein (Kind of a Hurricane Press). Tony Rickaby’s conceptual works, installations, and paintings have been shown throughout Europe and the US. His current practice reflects on walks around South London, where he lives. Recently he has written for Litro Magazine, Stepaway Magazine, Message in a Bottle, ken*again, The Camel Saloon, Sugar Mule, The Whistling Fire, and Fox Chase Review. His book Detours was published last year. www.tonyrickaby.co.uk Vernon Frazer’s latest book is Selected IMPROVISATIONS. Volodymyr Bilyk is a Ukrainian writer and visual artist. His books include a book in the series This is Visual Poetry (thisisvisualpoetry.com/?p=1151), a book of asemic short stories Cimesa (white sky ebooks), Scobes (No Press), Casio’s Pay-off Peyote (The Red Ceilings Press), and VISPO AY AI AY (Blank Space Press). His works have been published in such magazines as 3:AM, Altered Scale, The New Post-Literate, and many others. His works have been exhibited on Bright Stupid Confetti’s asemic show, Yoko Ono Fan Club, and Venti Leggeri in Bologna. Wale Owoade is a Nigerian poet. He is a silver award winner at the 2015 Tony Tokunbo International Poetry Prize. His works have appeared or are forthcoming in publications like: The Lake Poetry Journal, The Bombay Review, Mapple Tree Literary Supplement, Yellow Chair Review, Afri-Poet, Radar Poetry Journal, African Writer, WORD Up, The Kalahari Review, The New Black Magazine, and many others. Wale is the publisher and managing editor of EXPOUND: A Magazine of Arts and Aesthetics and is currently working on his manuscript.