Friday, September 19, 2014

Valerie Hsiung

LINGUAL BY WOOD



Amid fledglings,

Amid fledglings,

the wind pumped

cloud. Amid


mechanical fledglings,

the human

hands mimic

an eye amid

clouds. Amid infidel

clouds,

clouds.


Amid fledglings,

the edge of

cloud mechanized

hand,

I want to shower

I want a shower


trial of___

trial of ___

trial of___

trial of___

trial of ___

trial of___

trial of___


Amid fledglings,

this wo’ld,

that wo’ld,

not a foe of love

indifferent or

infamilial. Amid

infidel clouds,

cloude.






Valerie Hsiung's two books of poetry, incantation inarticulate and under your face, were both published in fall 2013 by O Balthazar Press. Her first full-length song record, IS, or, The Moon Is Not Safe, will be released end of 2014 with an EP premiere at Shapeshifter Lab in November. Latest and notable poetry and writing can be found or is forthcoming in print and digital with American Letters & Commentary, Apiary, Denver Quarterly, Diode Poetry Journal, EOAGH: Journal of Arts, Hayden's Ferry Review, LOVEBook, New Delta Review, the PEN Poetry Series and VOLT. A child of both the Bluegrass hills of Cincinnati and the Mojave desert of Las Vegas, Hsiung now lives and works around Brooklyn and Louisville.


Thursday, September 11, 2014

Gregory Lawless

BAD SAD HABITAT


Do you know or have you ever heard of the Rhetoric of Sally?

She’s the dream bucket who works at the Eidetic Mall.

No one has branches like her, such cognitive glue.

The Gnostics hid their coins in her like a bad cave.

I mean:

Remember the bully with the “magical matches”? The one with the mesh hat, who smelled like bait and orange soda and punched like a bookcase?

The one with a black guitar named Antelope?

Remember his chicken wing tattoo?

The one who could only sleep if there was a motorcycle within 50 feet of his hut?

Todd?

He’s married to Sally!

All he does now is sleep and wonder.

And sleep and sleep and sleep and eat and sleep.







Gregory Lawless is the winner of the 2013 Orphic Prize for Poetry and the author of Dreamburgh, Pennsylvania (Dream Horse Press, forthcoming). His poems have appeared in such places as Pleiades, Third Coast, The Cincinnati Review, The Journal, Sixth Finch, Gulf Stream, The Bakery, and Verse Daily. He lives in Waltham, Massachusetts.


Wednesday, September 03, 2014

Tod Marshall

BUCCINATOR


Bullock, buculus.  Castrated young bull. 
Coiled horn.  The long light shakes across the lakes:    we buy in bulk.
Give me that oral tradition, that ancient wordy call: 
gums, tongues, and mouths mouthing, eat, sucky, talk.
Embouchure—outmoded by the carefree trumpet:
toodle-oo to Gideon, Joshua, and Saul.  Infinite
surface, finite volume: it might 
be well to mention here that a bugle is sounded, 
not blown.  O coppery Butte, O superfunded
blunder, zinc-y need.  A pit is the earth stripped.
Regimented troops need their toots: Assembly,
Dismiss, Reveille, and Tattoo; Knock Off Bright 
Work, Man Overboard, Bayonet, Abandon Ship. 
Sayeth the Boogie Woogie, The Boy, sayeth me.








Tod Marshall lives in Spokane, Washington. His third book of poems, BUGLE, is forthcoming from Canarium Books.