crunch lung data/ in bratwurst selfie
Long overdue update to the zine.
subtle bays/ at left
To be in a room in a room
in a room full of rooms: a place is
named world. — Infinite Splinters, "Words at Night"
compressed sand wired for tensile strength
to elasticine proportions.
cerulean eerily superimposes
Civil War ghosts
onto Cracker Jack stickers amid the jolly nuts.
when hard water spots etch rain onto skin
like egrets tagged by ecologists for study
combustible hands jerk the keys
recalling ancient dances of elements.
with singed eyebrows
and soaked pelts over feet
tinkers toss the bone until it’s dusty art.
I’m Dr. Lampe now.
This site has been in many ways an important part of my journey. And that means I have many of you to thank. You all are awesome.
compost noose bed/ telling walls
how you recapitulate/ the slow
pent & review/ corsages
Let us go inside your skin
Let us go now among the drunken bells of rain — Ludwig Zeller
mind horses/ mending the cone
Zoo Club Fees
Shine the loop to dewey flats,
sureness is a Moorish tavern cusp
of undone time. Fry to December,
scalding lewd crime. Lie and help
the hunt to see a suture for fool’s dust
aboard a palatial request to air the air.
Eyes tilling long to grieve what heights
our body clings to. I really haunt the shown,
a leaping dune, keep it right to my need
flood, seed her mind’s Xanadu: a bonafide
conjugal what the water’s claw snaps to form.
If twas were the brine on the road,
scapegoat knees, lolling along the breeze,
I would find a disco of nectar spliced into
a spoken dream. If I snubbed your bee brain
seizing the world, it’s an uncontrollable scene
to relieve and relive all the colors that were
not torrid ever-lives. They saying day on
the bough-to-bough, patchy tongue,
crying dawn visceral fits to lounge
and crown a caffeine key our grape,
zoo club fees.
Art by Hugo Barros
Seed Text: Comfy in Nautica, Panda Bear; Taste, Animal Collective; Swing Tree, Discovery
Project: Automatic Listening
Less than one percent of Macintoshes
Gaia sleeps in the oval hoops
Waste-bins that live at the north pole.
art by Neil Krug
Some Float Off on Chocolate Bars and Some on Drink
What you might say at that moment is
“John was pinched at certain times.”
What the five policemen might say is
“You with sea water running
in your veins sit down in water.”
Nestled up against the rain, road signs
and pawn shops become
boats in my country,
a posse of poets,
an Easter cake.
Nestled up against breakfast with kinfolk
borrowed money becomes
licorice in the middle of Edinburgh,
a spell about Richmond.
The chain of blue monkeys is vivid and strong
until it arrives at black sands.
After all, one can’t be happy all the time.
Lists of things go on forever.
One must sit down in them and sing
in a bathtub, with flowers
and the prickly pear.
seed text: Collected Works, by Lorine Niedecker
art by Collage al Infinito
Van Gogh could see
italism. — Lorine Niedecker