Spent the better part of this last weekcycle getting into BlazeVOX's Winter 2011 more than 400 pages of poetry &or prose. Late to that party late in the wrong season, surrounded by a birth of humidity. I feel like an AC/DC song. And a Yo La Tengo. And and a Flux of Pink Indians.
What sticks :
Sean Borodale :
"... Today the hive
is trying out its harmonics
A weepy low fugue I think to burning sun ...
Some clumps of the world are barred ...
and the river’s
clogged two miles of hemlock rots ...
must search the dawn’s
damp ash for broken mirrors ..."
"... a slurry of collapsed swarm agitates in there
like the very black bowl of a
dead stare into itching solid
And there in that bludgeoned hole is the idea of a calf
not broken but fully bruised and blocked up with clay plugs
blackly weep from its ears
The colony has one time ..."
Aviva Englander Cristy :
Charles Wilkinson :
"... This glassy
humour in the gel leaves shapes that
will not laugh or fix: movement
defeats the mind that only tricks the
constant image. Now there are these
dark forms, fallen from behind sight
minko terez :
"... The trilling ducks have long shanks & hourglasses, & are very gregarious. They impregnate the plants & make the
"... the second that corner comes off the clasp its history begins...This list would be calm if it was full, but will it ever be? I hear her voice when I clean the giblets out of a chicken."
"... These windlasses can travel with suspended burdens & hold level even on a lofty track. The solvent goes up the paper by filiform action, which appears as an outcome. All exterior joints & sutures are soaked to give an unseamed appearance. Errors in construction produced a set of renewed sails that whirled counterclockwise. He is certainly real in his beliefs... "
Kristi Nimmo :
"... Bearded, with iris
And small rabbits, the grasshoppers
Chewing, oozing tobacco stains,
The rivulets of sweat sinking
"... the land swallowed the sound of death
is a shake and a rush... the bliss of solitude
"the return of certain birds that's a start. how much stink
bug per blackberry bush and all that… tinker with a car in the dusk
cornhusk terrible demon squash in undergrowth.
nobody's varmint fence works. the old lust for mud daft
Richard Cronshey :
"... Los Angeles
out there past the concussed and dreaming palms a subsonic whistling in the nerves Los Angeles luxuriating in its polymorphous thirsts forever under the unearthly saffron dusk that lasts all night... "