a fish cloud chafes purples, stubs rubies, cinctures a toe of moon, as starlings exhale through its fluffed ribs like bitumen. the ocean weltering below, rambunctious fidget of dip and teat, checkerboard slip-sloshing into mutual puzzles, jags that rear into each others’manes, scepters, shreds and deaths. and cormorants like oboes that got stuck in the slurries and devolved into coughing, their necks the fingers of…
Untitled by Braden Bell
The country grew fatter by the acre as some of us wondered whether there were any words left. These thin ribs choked the plains that are so damn plenty and the skies thundered from the west.
Untitled by Braden Bell
Because the blues is the GOOD silage and because no one keeps stock. Because I will not revise things elliptical, I wear rocks in my pockets, silage, I get it – I get it – this is why (and like their gravestones chatter) with a smirk behind the features I had it – the thing becomes a weight with a number. I will no longer…
AN EXTERNALIST, by Christopher Davis
denied tenure because he’d felt he had to say he’d like to lick his chair’s wife’s clit, shut down. Outside his lids, his silent, starless cave, Easter! Boulders beat up white fires, waves! Sunrise, time’s big smile, simple, winning, sinks, thinning into its bitter grimace, fun light, finally refined, igniting wilder riptides, quivery, jittery, a kite flying by night, alive!
TONGUING THE LINGO OF THE LIVING by Christopher Davis
1. In My Imagination Why can’t my sweet nothing, milky, meaningless, polyphonic, swelling in my hindbrain, mediocre, motivated, polymorphic, sound life like a people think? Terrified and tired of this tendency to talk, tell all, as if startled strangers could be my fictive family, I prayed, psychological pastoral, silence, for a vacuum sucks better than a wife. In a “tea…