As/Is

12.26.2008

you are the product of my heart

box of cigars
pan of fresh fish fried
parlance
fresh from new others
something tangible
and tangy

come for snacks
and I will serve you
bonafide kumkwat
sauce over your
main meal

people watching will require
dose of their own
for posterity
and relay rapture
at a moment's "no"

posted by Sheila Murphy on Friday, December 26, 2008

---

(0) Comments:   Post a Comment

---

12.17.2008

Gabcast! Saturday

posted by Common Sense on Wednesday, December 17, 2008

---

(0) Comments:   Post a Comment

---

12.16.2008

lost in transit

on the blink
of deception
shadows
travel
at the
speed of bike

posted by ed schenk on Tuesday, December 16, 2008

---

(0) Comments:   Post a Comment

---

12.11.2008

john response #1

john ‘tis lie
i said “piss”
then noting

of should have
said nothing
no piss john then

fuggit, faux-get

no joke i mined
problems less
obvious brain

john, heart

i wan not but
said nothing
“john” i wrote

i might be thee
asshole gallos
all mischief saying

“they” saying in
think-so write.
sing. a real wring

that is new real
john not john
i rote might

what than why
i want nothing a-
’ight? do it tome

mi roar writ.

posted by Steve Halle on Thursday, December 11, 2008

---

(0) Comments:   Post a Comment

---

Gabcast! Tuesday & Wednesday

posted by Common Sense on Thursday, December 11, 2008

---

(1) Comments:  

this is amazing and made my morning. i almost wrote "mooring." thank you.

# posted by  Steve Halle on 9:33 AM

 

Post a Comment

---

12.10.2008

is't not perfect conscience?

It is a critical
man:

how more attuned to divinity
by mourning?

posted by Henry Brock on Wednesday, December 10, 2008

---

(0) Comments:   Post a Comment

---

12.07.2008

From Dancing With Myself : Whiskey (adam fieled)

I don’t think I know anything:

look how the sun sets in March,

a cool night, not dappled, not

glazed, a construction crew in

the street, grinding away at

pavement. These are my worlds,

alone, waiting to be born again

into her, or you, if you want to

read this: streets, walking, cool

like a flaneur around a city I

haven’t loved in five years. I

know we’ll come together again,

and if we don’t I won’t be to

blame. Tonight’s for whiskey.  


Here is When You Bit... at The Poetry Library at Southbank Centre, London. 

posted by Adam Fieled on Sunday, December 07, 2008

---

(0) Comments:   Post a Comment

---

12.03.2008

shut letters calling (fall)

the precis in your magistrate's hip
pocket outlines words to gear toward
nocturn and debunkish long-term
habitude and restless something

as a matter of indelible restraint
I want to advocate for meritoke
and ginblend where you roster
your weak head beside the loft

and brave the coffers shallow now
and haltingly made genuine
(a mere reversal) while the land
rehearses symmetry thus far

unnoticed as a requiem by those
at center stern officially missed
and dowagers who paint the afternoon
some dowdy motif matching how we were

posted by Sheila Murphy on Wednesday, December 03, 2008

---

(0) Comments:   Post a Comment

---

spirit loaf

a drawling orchestra leans its pink scene meaningless spurts
of dream furnish roads of crisis deserts of fifteen lunatics
ring intrinsic bells of mystic maudlin laughter gushes and
impulses carry shrouds of revelational spiders a surgeon
one must falsely endure erotic floating linoleum curds
into spirit loaf the moon-faced perjury paradoxes rocked
and pop gaze refrain frigging up there in the portrait
supervision excitement with the shake of bowl is shaping
produce the spatter of bewildering pantomime nervous motions
a metaphysics of murmured lives that hold the taste of uproar
over the breath of focusing battlefields intermittent fucking
cringing behind portholes of smile on anniversary relentlessly

posted by Anonymous on Wednesday, December 03, 2008

---

(0) Comments:   Post a Comment

---