HAIKU IN ENGLISH: THE FIRST HUNDRED YEARS ant ant ant ant ant
January 30, 2014 § 1 Comment
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the cloud-edge on the horizon deer head in the freezer
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Jon Cone
Issue Six
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where the lines end and the absence begins an architecture or so
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Chris Gordon
Issue Five
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clear winter sky over the radio the first bombs
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Dorothy Howard
Issue Four
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whittling
till there’s nothing left
of the light
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Jim Kacian
Issue Five
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your hair drawn back
the sharp taste of radishes
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M. Kettner
Issue Five
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meadow speaking the language she dreams in
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Scott Metz
Issue Nine
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CHRIS GORDON a book of matches
January 29, 2014 § Leave a comment
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snow from Xmas still painted on the porno shop
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thaw before New Year’s silverfish in the bathtub
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three lentils in the beach bathroom drain
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my son says I’m not playing I’m having fun
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at the doctor we divide by two subtract one
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the button I sat on falls to the bus floor
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drawn to the lollipop ants sizzle in the sun
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panties tossed on the melon rinds wet in spots
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over time the little steps take us far away
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my brother I don’t really know it’s his birthday
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hoofprints on the beach seaweed entangled with bones
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morning the bathroom empty except for my razor
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you write a list I let your tea steep too long
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with a book of matches you know how many are left
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lit by the window sawhorses covered with snow
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the corner where the blackbird attacks a rag on fire
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deep in the river a tiny moth leaves my head
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CHARLES HENRI FORD for Hypnos (Special Effects Remix)
January 20, 2014 § 2 Comments
FOR HYPNOS
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all rooms are bedrooms
imbued with trickster luster
see-through parasites
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there’s a vapor dome
with eyelid catalepsy
scraping pale carrots
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towards bloodless gadgets
rapid loading elegance
the quick release prong
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husk of what’s to come
javelins of recording
listening forest
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moldy fig in front
a quenching apparatus
glandular tubing
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to plow a furrow
tumescent spores are released
woman-shaped women
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steel-clad hoisting ropes
to sail with sealed orders
light was meant to be
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wild cow milking
trapped between amplifiers
gift of escapades
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a four-letter word
the name of the safety-pin
fumed with icy jade
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it’s a cult revel
through the heart of Orion
a whitish-green glow
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peeling scorched vermin
ambrosial split seconds
black is for Hypnos
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your thistles vibrate
generation of transplants
dissolves on his tongue
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pinching a tulip
distrust of alien broods
a jasper necklace
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swamps of radium
the ticks go in winter time
made of snow fence slats
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don’t get lost on Mars
to spherical overtones
owls will prophecy
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face of oval scorn
I’d show your mistress quickly
the cloves and nutmegs
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CHRIS GORDON a ring around the moon
January 19, 2014 § Leave a comment
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after the movie
we find the ants
in the bag of candy
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footfalls on the wooden
floor I can hear what
I did to your knee
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the foundation separates
from the house ants
carry off a beetle
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silence on the phone
a spider darts out
from the matchbook
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the crow in
the road refuses to move
a thunderstorm at dusk
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at the bookstore
we pretend we don’t
know each other
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yellow dawn waking
up to the taste of
vomit on your lips
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a bit of your breast
as you lean over for
a piece of cold pizza
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where someone walked
the grass has lost its blue
sheen of dew
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at dusk the heat
inside the house pushes
the door open a little
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your panties soaking
in the sink today
the crocus bloomed
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the bank teller tells
me there’s a ring
around the moon
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she’s taking a long
shower I add up
the receipts
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empty nut shells blown
by a warm wind a rag
that smells of gasoline
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waves of heat rise
from a tin roof a balloon
in the distance
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a few grains of sugar
at the edge of the fire
slowly smoking
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a woman in white
furry boots I drop a handful
of screws
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at the end of January
we see the sun your results
off the chart
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after our fight
we both wind up at
the pineapples
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CHRIS GORDON the yellow payphone
January 5, 2014 § 1 Comment
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it only takes
incoming calls
the yellow payphone
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when you buy
a newspaper
the yellow payphone
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the yellow payphone
the only one
in the neighborhood
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next to
the ice machine
the yellow payphone
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if she’s angry
call her on
the yellow payphone
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additional charges
may apply
the yellow payphone
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the store’s closed
it’s still lit up
the yellow payphone
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calls may be
monitored on
the yellow payphone
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it smells
like cologne
the yellow payphone
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a call from
the sheriff forwards to
the yellow payphone
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all I remember
when I get back
the yellow payphone
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