CHRIS GORDON year of the fire horse
September 30, 2011 § Leave a comment
Divine Craft
The Chinese Astronauts
Were all born in
The same fortuitous year
Their wives dress
Like stewardesses
The Chinese Astronauts
The President behind glass
To keep his germs from
The Chinese Astronauts
Made in foreign countries
Their suits are different
The Chinese Astronauts
When they hear
Helicopters it’ll be time
The Chinese Astronauts
Their hands fumble at
Pockets that aren’t there
The Chinese Astronauts
The moon is neither
Full or empty to
The Chinese Astronauts
The Chinese Astronauts
Remain outside for
About 13 minutes
If the clouds recede
We’ll be able to see
The Chinese Astronauts
The payload is still
A mystery to
The Chinese Astronauts
The Chinese Astronauts
Aren’t able to touch
Their own faces
Carried from the capsule
The Chinese Astronauts
Sit in blue fold-out chairs
Back at their day jobs
The Chinese Astronauts
Remember weightlessness
FUJIKI KIYOKO by HIROAKI SATO ant ant ant ant ant six
September 30, 2011 § 2 Comments
As If She Were Machinery
:
:
In deep autumn I go on traveling unenlightened
:
The scent of perfume so lively sudden loneliness
:
The quiet sound of a falling mosquito resounds in my body
:
Ears of wheat reveal the depth and shallows of the sea
:
The day my black hair’s heavy and cold we part
:
A spring evening I ride a car with an ordinary man
:
Katydids my perspective gradually narrows
:
A girl’s limbs are thin and wise air-conditioned
:
Having got used to the depth of war I love a dog
:
Summer deep I sleep the day with my own smell
:
Fingerprints of desolation everywhere clouds white
:
The trifoliate orange is sharp the lady’s elegant
:
Oppressed by the sea in twilight I await a train
:
Covered by the sounds of insects lies a brain
:
Lonely spring a wife lives as if she were machinery
:
The night I give up and sew the needle shines
:
A white moon turns to gold above the young leaves
:
Through my temples a locomotive dashes dark
:
Here’s life the fruit juice amber transparent
:
Early autumn’s good my veins transparent arteries pulse
:
Rainy season desolate I find myself with peanut shells
:
At a katydid I feel as if noon day were sinking
:
With dusk slow to fall gruel’s cooking at my feet
:
Knotweed growing thin falls into the typhoon zone
:
A spring evening is wound down toward the apple skin
:
Coming away from parting I drink hard cold water
:
White noon no white letter comes knocking
:
Only a horsefly’s voice annoying my ears I make unlined clothes
:
Having lived single-mindedly I’ve lost my goal
:
:
TOM CLAUSEN ant ant ant ant ant seven
September 30, 2011 § 1 Comment
After The Pleasant Part
:
:
from the soil
in the shovel
a beetle crawls
:
low cloud cover
early in the morning
her tight dress
:
in the tall stand
of evergreens
my cookie crumbs
:
reflections
under the bridge
a man fishes
:
without her friend
on the bus
her face
:
no one home
on the hard ground
a light snow
:
carried on
the flooded river
a beach ball
:
spring
removing the neighbors
from view
:
while they investigate
the accident outside
I order pizza
:
wild cherries in blossom
their land rough
with junk
:
all I know
she has a blue star
on her left breast
:
gray daybreak
her “to do” list
from yesterday
:
at 70mph
what I saw
wild turkeys
:
keeping quiet
last of the day’s light
on new grass
:
asleep
in the fallen scarecrow’s lap
a cat
:
the War
a woodchuck nibbles
beside the freeway
:
at the next urinal
he studies a tile
higher up
:
garden walk
she checks herself
in the pond
:
the crow
in me
gets a response
:
dentist chair
the sun comes and goes
from the window
:
cemetery
tracks in the snow
lead out to the road
:
the habit of looking
where it used to be
the mirror
:
on her cell phone
going into the building
“I love you too”
:
on time
the daily truck load
of pigs
:
after the pleasant part
of our walk
we hurry
:
warm spring day
a bra
in the bushes
:
the chain link fence
runs into
highwater
:
writing him
the second letter
without complaints
:
dinner over
he addresses
some crumbs
:
heavy overcast
between bench slats
a sprout
:
:
JON CONE ant ant ant ant ant seven
September 30, 2011 § Leave a comment
Yet She Tells You About Owls
:
:
I look for my ax sounds of distant trains
:
Horns swirling my ruined reeds
:
Cup your hands hold the iron water briefly
:
After the storm all morning gathering tree branches
:
Wondering about the unreadable billboard I boil an egg
:
Ropes and bags of sand even I remember the old garage
:
Plums in a plastic bag on the picnic table the fountain lights
:
On the path to the water pump sky filled with stars
:
At a loss for words using bleach to clean your infected toe
:
Laundry on the line grasses move in the ditch
:
Stirring ashes with a stick crudely drawn phallus
:
The pond is frozen hard nipples beneath your shirt
:
Three pennies in a urinal full moon tonight
:
Before the universe not even nothing to piss you off
:
Toy truck rusts in the sandbox measureless grief
:
You don’t even like her yet she tells you about owls
:
The juniper is ill with mold I need new eyeglasses
:
Sprouting through plastic grass seed left in the rain
:
The hammer feels warm I wipe my face with a rag
:
Paperbacks my glasses a change tin decorated with pin-ups
:
Near the lonely summer telescope an outhouse steams
:
Thunder approaches at my desk writing a letter
:
Scanning the phone book you find your name
:
In the barn straw dust climbs a column of light
:
Summer already I catch flies with my bare hand
:
By this time next year you won’t even remember why
:
T-shirt wet with sweat working the lower register
:
The wasp you don’t really like begins a new nest
:
On the hill of flowers your ragged mouth gives me ideas
:
Black angel in need of repair it’s just me lousy with tools
:
:
ant5 