Shobos & Lovejas

by Amy Bueno

The sheep follows the wolf
sobre valles & manchas
of the old world’s alfombra
al laundrymat.  The oveja
sits there folds bragas
with patches of lana while
lobitos hide in unmatched piles
de ropa, su mamá ya civilizada
& without teats sin aullido,
untando her legs with jabón,
& lamiendo un bone. 
You gotta know, esto es como es,
es es the world, asink pero bonito,
with all the ovejas aplastadas
until the only lobo with a hole
in her sock & a fang on her toe
es una veri sexi wolfita.  Yo,
a pobre boba washing my clothes off,
digo:  we need more wolves, más evil
as the linted good aches
& bleats bondades & bleats
while small asesinos unspool
& los vecinos se afeitan
with the golden rule. 
Sus guts se blanquean & sad.
Sus guts se blanquean & sad. 



Share this | January 11, 2007 | department: Issue 2, poetics | No Comments |

Yo soy Wednesday

by Amy Bueno

Yo soy Wednesday
from the middle of the week.
Las semanas me han
aplastado pero I keep
soying. Lift me up
fuera del granaje que me deja
deaf. If you are a dog,
& not a boy, traga el reloj.
El sacrificio es mio porque
yo soy Wednesday. Lo lento
no caga. Preguntar cuando,
sí. If you have a comb,
peina el gris. Name me
miercoles de las cabras.
No me caso, porque ya soy
widow. If you are an arrow,
apunta para viernes. They say
Monday, pero nunca he lunes.
Encaje de las horas–you are not
pretty! Si quieres envolverte
en belleza, you’ve got Wednesday,
día coja que rifa esta tarde honesta,
doily of a day for your coffee.
Sweet hours seeking failures.
Lista para besarte con mi flechita
de segundos. Yo soy Wednesday.



Share this | January 11, 2007 | department: Issue 2, poetics | No Comments |

Ars memoriae: Aegis Forever

by Neal Cassady

 

I. What to make, of, bold, tonight, writing.

Within lairs, formulaic?

of bold writing. Tonight I do

 

II. Where to be, sweet gramen.

Where to be? This night, when simples

meet their shrines, dare play melodies?

 

III. When clocks tolled lies? Bandits

when they wake? Thieves stealing

Ancient codices marking trifles – Minerva’s belching maize.

 

IIII. Art: Of it make what of it? Sweet gramen?

Leopards and lions feed upon you. O’ son of many bitches.

Praetor, art thou hungry?

 

IIIII. Of nature’s pools? "Can’t be," he said.

Pooling by the roots of maize. "Can’t be of…"

of bold writing, twinkling?

 

IIIIII. One times six ago I and never looking back

seek the praetor, the chameleonic praetor. Wed in his locks.

Where cats cast their dust .

 

IIIIIII. Two times five before then silence waves to me.

Before me when, stellar pulsars wave their minstrel’s

comets behind in wake. Bull

(silence = shh)

IIIIIIIIT This is it? Order junctures order. This synectic praetor.

Blue and green, miles high, how

Don praetor, move please and shed your cape of night.

The night is only dark so

you can’t
see.

But carry light, mon praetor.

You’d better watch the heavy burden of passing time.

[A posteriori]



Share this | January 10, 2007 | department: Issue 2, poetics | No Comments |

Creation Myth

by Brian Howe


Lesion, jamb and skaldic jaw
fluxion idiom tidier; uremia odium awe.

 

Bite wampum dice, skim limit troika
calm? Drafty retch Yule junkman sues:

 

a dive, a poker, and a caddy. Red coifs
ouch! Zest radii loamy art duel,

 

iced yuck fiche fib. Gucci waste o.k.
chunks (nudes eddied fake inkjet pies),

 

city tight mob juju. Xerox dung, “Seek
life mix sigma dimes put dude dander.”

 

Ice soaked cave dive – decoy dope, cube
speed vendor / slink mire yeoman prim child.

 

Ides’ eye, ogle do moist bodice, mice,
died vodka yokel lotus? You orifice:

 

eyed cry wide, a paved myth i.e. coke
thug echo.

 

It is more than enough to say cove,
swarthy kiosk dial,

 

tufted nerve pocks sick battue earwax.



Share this | January 7, 2007 | department: Issue 2, graphic, poetics | No Comments |
« Previous Page

all content © copyright 2007 _volutionsmagazine.com & the authors

Close
Email this