TOMIZAWA KAKIO by HIROAKI SATO ant ant ant ant ant five
October 13, 2011 § Leave a comment
Scenery In Green Flames
:
:
Cold thunder a single fish slaps heaven
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To cross the strait something vermillion stirs
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Soughing out of my lung a blue butterfly’s wings
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The day honey overflows in bee hives its heaviness
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The shadow merely the migrant birds above the salt lake
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The light turned off oh the heaviness of mercury
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When the snow falls the snow falls quietly nude
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The night the snow accumulates I become a deep-sea fish
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In the evening wind both horse and woman are in the wind
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Night the moon falls I live in the shadow of leaves
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Night the rain smolders I remain closed with petals
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Camellias fall oh this lukewarm midday fire
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Day of pollen the birds do not have breasts I see
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Chickens mate and the sun’s letting mud drip
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Swaying geese come scenery in green flames
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I turn into a snake a drop of water taking a walk
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A butterfly glistening glistening and I darken
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Away in the yellow wind they strip a house duck naked
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Right in the middle of autumn wind a blue shell hole
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Torn clouds here on earth are 15-centimeter howitzers
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Autumn deep clanking our canteens we eat
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Dead ahead clouds glittering forced to cross a river
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There getting wet rain-red is a hand grenade
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Night bandage smudges with blood geese fly honking
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The trench’s belly blood-red in undulating rains
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In the blue sky I hammer a nail that makes a piercing sound
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Deep in my ears I hide a single red machine gun
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Gluing themselves to my retina are mud and muck
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Deep in my chest a gray gun carriage overturns
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I close my eyes and in the void a black horse prances
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ELLIS AVERY ant ant ant ant ant eight
October 4, 2011 § 2 Comments
Latched With A Leek Leaf
:
:
tiny morning glories
piled up on each other
blooming and dying
:
my feet like breasts
vulnerable and useless
but less decorative
:
on the subway I smell
someone peeling an orange
ten yards away
:
cozily dwarfed
by a wall
of lush moonflowers
:
menstruating
I stare at pictures
of our dead cat
:
caressing her own neck
with the back
of a spoon
:
brick wall broken
by fire escapes
on one a lawn gnome
:
the dentist takes a mold
cold pink cement crumbs
dribble down my bra
:
falling thickly
a flock of sycamore leaves
at night I catch one
:
window gingko
last leaf gone
last night I dreamed of cats
:
Sunday
on the park railing
someone’s black thong
:
vegetable stall
cupboard
latched with a leek leaf
:
Saint Mark’s Place
crowded with drunken
Santas
:
nightfall all the mirrors
for sale on the sidewalk
offer blue blue
:
at the drugstore
balling used tinsel
into the trash
:
on the sidewalk
a dozen spilled white buttons
all sizes
:
morning
snow melts faster
on the north side of the street
:
early daffodils
jaunty
in the cold
:
Monday afternoon
on the church steps
fixing her little girl’s hair
:
all in one night
the forsythia rolled in
loud and chatty
:
not recognizing
my friend
on the corner
:
they’ve struck all
their blue-tipped matches
last week’s azalea buds
:
alone at night
in the new dress I made
eating Thai food
:
grown too fast
the oak leaves
their splayed tongues
:
on the hotel
comment card
a dead bug
:
in a white dress
she crosses the street
bearing one lettuce
:
orange extension cord
snakes up a tree
lighting nothing
:
washing
an egg-shaped stone
with dewy grass
:
floating glint of metal
in the gingko tree
one of my hairs
:
the morning glories
gain the second floor
half a million dead in Iraq
:
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JOHN MARTONE ant ant ant ant ant eight
October 4, 2011 § Leave a comment
Longer Arms After Picking Tomatoes
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:
in that blue shirt
fallen scarecrow
could be me
:
some pebbles
& some knotted cord
to show for these days
:
rained on
just like
white pines
:
snail shell left
a thumbprint
in mud
:
snow brought
a lot
of light
:
his room
a shoebox
diorama
:
in time
you’ll fit in
snail shell
:
there’s no one else
to gather
these walnuts
:
footbridge
where there’s
no one
:
white roses
falling
apart
:
the white rosebush
doesn’t
need me
:
in pine shade
my front steps
collapsing
:
cucumbers
climbing
sunflowers
:
chicken wire
encircling pink
lady’s slippers
:
door frame
fallen
in mint
:
sparrow
watching me
drink
:
watering pines
brings robins
& wasps
:
gourd vine
sharing this line
with laundry
:
every starling
in that tree
faces west
:
seed packet’s
lunar white
inside
:
my face
towel’s
frayed
:
my neighbor’s
two chimneys
don’t fall
:
green shack
sinking into
weeds
:
longer arms
after picking
tomatoes
:
every seed
in seed packet’s
fold
:
all this time
carrots’ve been
hiding
:
a stranger
where garden’s
overgrown
:
suddenly
he sees it’s
a slum
:
come home
to 3 fireflies
at my door
:
tomato bush
tall enough
to hide me
:
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PAUL M. ant ant ant ant ant eight
October 3, 2011 § Leave a comment
A Fox Who Knows Too Many Tricks
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:
Indian Summer
a stick twisted to keep
the spider upright
:
rehearsing a lie
the orange brilliance
of a poppy field
:
explaining again
our two homes
snow drifts
:
gray salamander
a childhood creek
through my fingers
:
orange blossoms
years since I’ve been
bare-chested under the sun
:
crunch of dried leaves
I am a fox who knows
too many tricks
:
old steel town
snow heaped
beside the road
:
pebbled beach
she turns away
to breastfeed
:
snow begins to fall
the inappropriate things
she says sometimes
:
paper white bulbs
the faint moon
in my thumbnail
:
red oak leaves
a couple married late in life
holding hands
:
moon just full
who drives
my old car now?
:
snow-covered garden
a mental note
to wire money
:
weekend alone
I lift the ficus
into a larger pot
:
hoar frost
the old corner
with unmarked graves
:
stairs down to the sea
a dandelion
with seeds intact
:
tidal silt
the airport’s wind sock
blowing the other way
:
long week’s end
a hint of red
in the pickleweed
:
too late to pull it out
the white rump
of a clapper rail
:
billion year old moon
an outgoing wave
reveals sand crab holes
:
beads of pond water
on a lily pad
the impossibility of sunup
:
called home
first crinkled leaves
on the maple tree
:
commuter station
a bee lingers
in the tickweed
:
rain to the north
a loose rung
on the lookout tower
:
office window
they say no two snowflakes
are the same
:
all these years later
the same pine bough
wet with rain
:
irregular frame
of a tree fort
chimney smoke
:
returning geese
her ashes still
in the plain tin
:
our old field
each step
releases cabbage whites
:
spring morning
flies return
to a crab carcass
:
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GUY R. BEINING ant ant ant ant ant six
October 3, 2011 § Leave a comment
The Back Streets Of A Snail
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:
billboards
pinned to the sleeve
of the highway
:
we of one market
one leaf one fruit bin
await flies & rot
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washes whiter
in quiet of evening
dark creak of table
:
bring me
the room of
a swollen number
:
in mock soup
& fan of turtle shell
sore-kneed Buddha
:
offer pictures of mecca
while playing a dangerous
game of marbles
:
bubbles that
hear flat skin of
sunfish
:
heavy black glove
nearsighted & brusque a bee
breasts pressing mirror
:
hand on
soiled number 9
paper off the roll
:
order of night
a hyphenated thought
left in onion patch
:
inhabit this
the back streets
of a snail
:
gets you no further
from nature to circle
the tree in spanish
:
white lips powders
space left by stars
fixer
:
in glass rooms air
listens to itself covers
of light fall & fold
:
a yellow ball from
the women in chairs opens
the crematory steps
:
draw space as maximum
silverware in her hair
& shells to eat with
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words burn
a cut above the spine
sitting on divan
:
rush hours middays other
times black band around
the sky bright eyes
:
the membrane falls
from a table of ferns
stock multi-bodied
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another charred
boat has left
the dock of dreams
:
open blossom or
bloom of voice
in insect light
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and invention
nefarious angles in
bitter snow drifts
:
and long white wings
the estuary on
its dark toes
:
a circle of mirrors
shut out the stars
people don’t know
:
breath
the pin as ice pick
buying the night face
:
colored sharpness
of wild card in
stenciled parlor car
:
go toward
the buried side
of vision
:
dire briefness of
lot pocket it even if
it blackens the soul
:
the moon is not
a number it is a landfill
a gap in the eye
:
on head of mountain
grievous we have maintained
a private clasp
:
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LEE GURGA ant ant ant ant ant six
October 3, 2011 § Leave a comment
Adjust The Dimmer
:
:
milkweed flowers as seen on national tv
:
dollar not quite as green as the katydid
:
an empty beach on the island spring
:
tax day outside the post office wild plum scent
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leaves of grass something sticky on the cover
:
93 million miles past the adult book store spring sunset
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spiderwort in bloom “i love you” note in the wrong envelope
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phone ringing in the dead of night a cloud of skippers
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white sand beach i fill my pockets then empty them
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after lovemaking rhubarb tarts
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just a piece of wing on the dusty road painted lady
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empty thong where i wonder who
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white chrysalis of salt on the kitchen table
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scent from the letter i adjust the dimmer
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after church a butterfly explodes on the windshield
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night rain putting on my good underwear
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forgotten today by the one true god autumn mosquito
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hardware store smell of gun oil and donuts
:
the virgin mary floodwater up to her thighs
:
motionless in the wind galvanized sheets bent by the wind
:
brought an umbrella for once but didn’t need it
:
one yellow dandelion one autumn butterfly
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day of the dead there goes my skirt
:
a red plastic whistle in the withered grass
:
drifting snow a pair of blue jays in the treetop
:
winter solstice careful not to touch my sleeping wife
:
farther than the amtrak whistle stubblefields
:
the man who never married doesn’t watch
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powdered snow sifts across the county blacktop
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from time to time the dog catches up
:
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FUJIKI KIYOKO by HIROAKI SATO ant ant ant ant ant six
September 30, 2011 § 2 Comments
As If She Were Machinery
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:
In deep autumn I go on traveling unenlightened
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The scent of perfume so lively sudden loneliness
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The quiet sound of a falling mosquito resounds in my body
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Ears of wheat reveal the depth and shallows of the sea
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The day my black hair’s heavy and cold we part
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A spring evening I ride a car with an ordinary man
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Katydids my perspective gradually narrows
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A girl’s limbs are thin and wise air-conditioned
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Having got used to the depth of war I love a dog
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Summer deep I sleep the day with my own smell
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Fingerprints of desolation everywhere clouds white
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The trifoliate orange is sharp the lady’s elegant
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Oppressed by the sea in twilight I await a train
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Covered by the sounds of insects lies a brain
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Lonely spring a wife lives as if she were machinery
:
The night I give up and sew the needle shines
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A white moon turns to gold above the young leaves
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Through my temples a locomotive dashes dark
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Here’s life the fruit juice amber transparent
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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
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With dusk slow to fall gruel’s cooking at my feet
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Knotweed growing thin falls into the typhoon zone
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A spring evening is wound down toward the apple skin
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Coming away from parting I drink hard cold water
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White noon no white letter comes knocking
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Only a horsefly’s voice annoying my ears I make unlined clothes
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Having lived single-mindedly I’ve lost my goal
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TOM CLAUSEN ant ant ant ant ant seven
September 30, 2011 § 1 Comment
After The Pleasant Part
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:
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
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:
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
:
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JON CONE ant ant ant ant ant six
December 3, 2010 § 1 Comment
I OFFER YOU AN EYELASH
:
building a stone fence a scattering of feathers
:
smell of incense meat scraps in a plastic bin
:
mouthful of willow rain on the shed roof rain wherever
:
lifting up your dress from behind fire-scorched land
:
basket filled with stones the graveyard we wandered in
:
dreamed we lived in a corn maze what a curious word chthonic
:
axle grease on a rag blunt ruined fingers and eucalyptus mist
:
wasps by the pump only the four elements are real
:
the cloud-edge on the horizon deer head in the freezer
:
the shade of a hemlock I offer you an eyelash
:
