Old friends arrived from everywhere with the same thoughts, no doubt, of release into that lovely land. a lot of Iris, perpetual expatriate, Florence, mother’s younger sister, who now raised 14 goats on the steep slope of Tohunga beneath large Eucalyptus trees. head of Fernand Leger, the painter who talked incessantly to a reporter from… Continue reading 9 – Cold day.
Category: Found Poem
found poem, not mine —
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“But ‘Bad Driver’ does not purport to be a historical document. Inspired by ‘ji ju,’ or ‘assembling phrases’ — a Chinese literary practice of linking verses and fragments from earlier poems to create new compositions — the authors ripped historical information, sometimes outright, from their original scholarly sources and reconstituted them, creating a text that is by turns disjointed and disorienting.” – 2/2/21
8 – Meatpacking Moscow, Peking, México, Hollywood
I remember Moscow as a southern city, warm with the colour of all the churches with their onion tops, their scale still predominant over the city. He told me of a pig factory where they were born on the top floor and came out as bacon on the bottom. The starting, the stopping, the creaking… Continue reading 8 – Meatpacking Moscow, Peking, México, Hollywood
7 – Japonisme
Often operating at the tumultuous interface of sky and sea the winddriven high seas sailors who persistently sur- vived did so only through experience informed, comprehensive, immaculate tech- niques of anticipation, swiftly executed ingenuity, courage, intuition, and omni- considerate economies of design. another Rosanjin, this time of flowers human and unraptured study — enraptured Beautiful… Continue reading 7 – Japonisme
6 – dark honeyed glide, another place. the worries of mothers
Also, he had been gassed. I saw his Purple Heart. for Forrest line, lank and long, be with. [10] teething on me pictures of the floating world This is the sun, very good, and everything is good. Clusters of cloud against the moon, the wind for a flower Train traced razed a plume of smoke through the trees… Continue reading 6 – dark honeyed glide, another place. the worries of mothers
5 – Acconci
The American Cafe (or: the compulsion of wide and use) The underside of the stone sky or: under work Another point of view (or: under the surface) The pathway Soft Roads (or: ‘I won’t wait for the end I’ll walk into it) The Searchlight The Search for Tomorrow or: Light Years Away The accelerated mountain… Continue reading 5 – Acconci
4
the fog played tricks; it loved paradox. Back in Tuscany, after a spell of melancholy, he began to sculpt again in clay, In the Rain When It’s Rainy, In the Wind When It’s Windy Vanguard, febrile, my unbaited hook would twitch along the lake bottom’s algae slime, my earthworm snuck back into bucket-writhe. Fear of… Continue reading 4
3 – Iris dispersed
I must have held it in and, upon entering my father’s suicide, el Dios de la Madera (the God of Wood) frostier probably, no fires What were the shipboard dreams dreamt in 1849 by young men the keyhole limpets and slit limpets Genocide is unfathomable even to those who underwent it, let alone people who only… Continue reading 3 – Iris dispersed
2
The arterial beauty of Florida is alive in all of its obesity. And your mother, with her rough hands, her quiet advice, has walked along the sidewalk knowing how cold a wooden house can feel, vowels fall into the letter n the way the summer, wheat-blazed and feral, pours into the cold weeks of November, winter in… Continue reading 2
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Found poem My dead lovers are hungry in the kitchen, so I fix them food they cannot eat. The yellow swarm Was not more fleet than I, It’s January there, the month of the unburied dead and the earth is the first corpse. Why do you think you can stitch the crevice to the landscape… Continue reading 1