Amílkar U., Nadaísta
Trans. by Camilo Roldán

Nor torsos. Here were the words dark matter. Ritual archeology – delve into an alternate university’s torture workshop. Nobody studies (studies of nobodies). Witness ourselves these carcasses in livid vivisection. Candlelit gallery, stained glass, discarded harpsichord, gory furniture. And stanzas amass that languish withstanding.


Drinking with Matthew

Eric Gelsinger, Drinking with Matthew

What did the mystic say to his shrink? Listen to this misfortunate bliss. My personal man party, dick jokes and poker, art and sports (sparts!), fandemonium, a million yuks. The thinking instills intimate bullshit from a deep, drunk, middle-class childhood. Ball pit, roller rink, dirty feeling. Money humiliates all of us assholes. Keeping it real: I could pee an eternity.


Cara Benson

Cara Benson, Cara Benson

Identity and principle. "I" – lip-synching hypocrite (“Cara Benson”) confront power, center stage. She makes a spectacle of caring desperately, swallowing pride, then genuine raging. Lines break w/ a clarity that clears the auditorium’s air. "I" – disembodied “audience” slowly disengage, fall from my chair. There’s no misreading the cataclysmic: “It’s coming.” So why O why do we leave her pleading?


Headless Multi Vs Perpetual Interface

Billy Cancel, Headless Multi Vs Perpetual Interface

Book as blizzard of sizzling drill bits. We’re out, wasted latenights, walking into walls, picking fights we can’t win. Our grid scout – Billy in silver facepaint. Songs happen upon: patterned litterfall, syntax trainwrecks, pixely derelicts, poplocking drunk. A funky cosmos juxtaposed. His rhythms ramble (bramble status). The feet maintain, but the brains beat in.


Latronic Strag

Sara Deniz Akant, Latronic Strag

Its origin: gray area, hoop earring. Binary, trinity, dot dot dot. I heart Central Park on her Atari harmonica. Hot metropolitan doppelgangers and their designer neologisms. A digital roll call: all the little piggies, parroting pirates, lobotomized kites, hobo strollers. Hobgoblins are hovering in the cloud cover. Inside, snow glows, limelight-white.



Only Voyage

Aaron Lowinger, Only Voyage

This is living. Poetry, friends, bound by keyring, freewheelin' around the kingdom, crying out loud. We lost boys ride side-stapled to the old soul's Toyota. Apostles to lots of coffee and endless talking shit. How we know, what we know, that nothing, nowhere, here nor there, ground beneath goes through the air. The Thruway it's down on paper. I promise you, spirit only.


Death TV

Colby Somerville, Death TV 1-6
Lightful Press

Behold the heavens divided and ploded episodic. My fellow picnickers, meanwhile, we're mapping our nappies. Do a folio flyover. Infer an I to renai-reconaissance - insect data centers, intercept xy, interdict missiles. The poet will redirect yr echolalia acrostically - through lines, delicately latticed, lacing for miles. Displays of violence beget displays of violence. Backgrounds buzzy w/ pinpoint potential.


Imaginary Portraits

Joshua Ware, Imaginary Portraits 
Greying Ghost Press

This collection is singular as sunscreen or interstate. Its places at once commune with a nature not politics, $, and data. Complicate - don't compute - the words "Middle America." Prairie-bruises. We skype in a skylight of bluebirds. I see myself hinge on a constant and distant denuding neither inside nor outside the bedroom. Becoming a fantasy too faint to experience.



Disseminating the famous phoneme: C, h, e. 

Biography acts as the foundation for a time-lined poem-space. I enter the future etymologies machine-gunning from his name (ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch) and examine his machete worldview's possibilities for poetic practice (chop-chop). Form forms an extreme-left margin, uncompromising, resolute, rigid and unflinching. Discipline sticks to a narrative line, his narrative line, chiseled, coherent, to the death.
Listen. Rickety decisions ricochet down his spine: Is violence a viable response to the spirit of dominance that drives this corporate machine? Will it, must it, come to blood? What will be the consequences for our consciences? I want to be earnest enough for Ernesto, yes, to ideate "Ideal -isms" and really really mean "meaning what we say." I want to stare down the evils Chevrolet-ing these days and rise up against ego's megalomaniac merchandise. But tired brains get deluded by T-shirts and hatred corrupts like cholesterol. Hey, tongue and teeth, be on your guard! (2008)

Stockport Flats: Oxbow Cutoff


The Next Big Thing

Jessica Smith tagged me for this interview circular: “The Next Big Thing.” You can read her contribution here, where she describes her latest manuscript, mnemotechnics (finalist for the 2012 Nightboat Prize). I recommend a wander through her first book Organic Furniture Cellar. You might see a double rainbow...

        pink        o   n
                    t              s                    ed

                              w         e
                      d                     e

                                  g                l a


                                                clear sky
       ink     d                    ye

                                   s       pink
                              w               a  aqua
                                            t   e r

Now, below, I answer some questions about Che, my forthcoming book from Stockport Flats (March 2013). 

What is the title of your book?

Che (or Being Che or Unuiet Youth / Becoming Che / Making the New Man or Honeymoon / Speech / Experiment w/ a Tin Grenade / Sensitivity TrainingTheir Whole Whorehouse Hemisphere / Channeling the Revolution / Photo Shoot / Machete Schedule / The People’s Theater / General Chaos / The City of Cienfuegos / Mythology / Name Change or). My projects are usually constellations constructed upon titles: one and many.
Who is the publisher of your book?
Stockport Flats. Editor Lori Anderson Moseman published my first book, B, as the inaugural book in the Meander Scar series. The latest stunning books in that series are Belinda Kremer’s decoherence and Melanie Noel’s The Monarchs. As for Che, it is part of a new Stockport series called Oxbow Cutoff for subsequent books by Meander Scar authors (see: Deborah Poe’s the last will be stone, too). Lori is Stockport Flats, but she has many arms: Witness Post (ecopoetics), Wavefront (women writers), Confluence (community poetics). Spend some time in her universe. 
What genre does your book fall under?
Poetry. In the innards of B, Lori labeled it “Poetry/Politics,” which, for some reason, we both thought was funny. Che is labeled: Poetry, but just here let’s add Politics. You know, to be funny.
What is one sentence from your book?
Precipice nondescript.     pt.
What inspired you to write this book/where did the idea for the book come from?
For my birthday (2008), my friend Randall gave me a copy of the definitive Che bio, by Jon Lee Anderson, a journalist I had been reading for many years (see: Guerillas, The Lion's Grave, The Fall of Baghdad, all of which helped me to write The- Associated Press and Secret Caves). Instantly, I knew that I was going to write a poem on Che, those letters: C, h, e.
In the previous years, I had been thinking, re-thinking, in poetry, my politics: contextualizing, communing, being mixed up. Feeling ineffectual (insecure re: my “unjustified” poetics), I turned to investigating the lives of radical actors (another poem of mine, Sons and Followers, conjures John Brown). There’s this fantasy, masculine fantasy, of entering a world stage and changing things through force. Seizing power. Wrongs will be righted. Particularly complicated, I think, for poets and artists who believe in truth’s open space, the reader’s autonomy. Che inhabits this problem for a while.
How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?
Che took 2 years to ch-ch-chisel: 2008-2009. Conceptually, the middle section “Che” came first. It’s a series of left-justified spine-tight columns with blank pages to the right. The opening, “Unquiet Youth,” came next (previously published @ Harp & Altar), a flimsy li’l pamphlet, slipped into the front over, to fall on your lap, to get trashed beneath your boots. The finishing touches of “Making the New Man” (the synthesis! in 3D!) were applied throughout my first year in Iowa City (some of these pagescapes were previously published in Mutha Fucka #2).
What are your influences for this book?
Totem poles, Aztec codices, Diego Rivera’s revolutionary murals, Zarathustra, Marinetti, Mayakovsky, Lorca, papeluchos (dirty paper scraps).
Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?
Steven Soderbergh actually made the movie the same year as I was writing the poem – unbeknownst to him! Sodebergh chose Benicio del Toro, an obvious choice! Besides he, maybe me, or you.
What else might pique the reader’s interest?


of the Day

Some new poems from "of the Day" (a project in progress) uploaded to the internets, thanks to the wonderful folk at Horse Less Review (Jen Tynes and Michael Sikkema) and Petri Press (Micah Bateman and Andrea Kohashi).