CURRENTLY:
AT isacoustic*
https://isacoustic.wordpress.com/
CONTRIBUTORS:
Jon Cone
and the heart-ache
that occupies the land is yours alone in hope. – {from} YOU ARE NOT LATE, IT IS ONLY THE PRELUDE THAT PLAYS
/
Adam Hughes
Tonight the fugitive gods limp
away, – {from} Kemper Street Hymns
//
Leanne Drapeau
the body broken,
poured out. – {from} love has all its teeth intact
///
Agnieszka Mauch
I can’t
move my arms enough to create a
notion of the sea – {from} FURTHER DISRUPTIONS
////
Amelia Kester
I will find
the soft people – {from} BLACKBERRIES
/////
Brian Dawson
…sway against forgotten statues
until all that is left is the sibilance of old secrets. – {from} Nine
//////
Ed Churchouse
…mute blue comma,
w/ tiny, turned off
fullstop eyes,
you force
me caesura early
in the walking
home from work. – {from} Dead Bird
///////
REVIEWS:
Many Full Hands Applauding Inelegantly – poems – Darren C Demaree
thru December 25th, 20% off all print books on Lulu with coupon code of LULU20
10% off all print books at Lulu thru December 14th with coupon code of LULU10
my newest is there / {everything I touch remembers being my hand}
~~~
and, some poems, from the book:
[food] ~ partial ~
the first person to use these steps went down these steps. violence is the new past. I see a dove and think god will never know who it was ate his crushed light bulb. I betray my ear. the seashell of the stomach.
–
I try, but can’t make my bed. mom says maybe I’m grief. after coming back to touch me, she wishes herself a bird.
I hope she eats.
–
what
will I never
see
lost
arachnid, a triangle
drawn
by others-
my legs make me lonely.
dream, put me down.
~~~
[alas, touch]
sound’s shy historian, digger
of a hole
for the…
View original post 16 more words
there’s no great detail to go into. her baby in a medicine cup, our small priest
making us feel poor in the bathroom we don’t use…
–
a face from the world’s flattest mirror
the elderly
our unpraised
orphans
with healed
and self-taught
toys
she has a nest for a heart and takes her meals between confession and acne. death guesses correctly what birth knows. was god made her ghost the color of my teeth.
I’m reading again. sucking
oh the rib
from circle’s dream and yeah
recovering
from the lives
of others
on a train of adopted nostalgia
death was invented by aliens as a memory game meant to persuade god we’re attractive up close. I sometimes have to choose over scalpel a red crayon. mother over snowfall over bodies of ghostless water.
mother and father
pass
back and forth
a bruise
they call
wristwatch
how long
was I drunk
learning curve
of cocoon
kingsoftrain 