Metalepsis of the Red Mask, image by Irene Koronas
Spoon’s Collaboratives
It makes a goblin of the sun (@ 80 bpm)
Camelia aches.
So what about the rocking chair?
She is bruised in
every moment of her body.
I know, of course:
Her stomach churns.
everything comes down to seeing.
She casts her eyes
upward;
I know, of course:
field stretches,
somewhere in her periphery.
people who scratch out
imperfections are unhappy forever.
She is enveloped in
white-blue, unending sky.
I know, of course:
She imagines the
breaking of the largest sea you’ve ever seen.
no person was ever born without desire - to be happy forever.
To see the ocean is to
know the vastness of the earth.
Call it the sinoatrial node.
She has been in this
town for an eternity.
It’s the heart’s pacemaker.
She longs, sometimes,
to leave.
A human heart is 8 ounces in its chest.
The vast expanse of
the ocean calls her to go;
Every day human hearts beat 115,000 times.
to float out, crash
along in a boat,
I know, of course:
to lean over the side
of the vessel and be met with only the cold,
my heart is like a seed;
unlit blackness of the
sea.
no, I know my heart is a seed.
So much lies beneath
to send a shiver over her -
My friend laughed when I took her to see my favorite lake;
a sheen of pain
through her bones.
she is not looking with my heart.
The skin on her neck creeps
coldly down, until it quivers off her back.
It is only sometimes my body and not me that aches.
—Sammantha Prychodko
& Nathan Spoon
I’ll write coward across your face
Oulanem fabricates
death rings
makes heaven a
plaything for
his calculations
tongues of fire
stream forth
voluptuous lips bright
conscience-blazing
brain worms for KETTLE
clock-hands whirling
in sequence DOXX
to a god-fist sermon
working
flattery’s loins as if
a puppet a blind fear
presentient mingling
waiting for its cue cut
to the man rolling up
or unrolling a
length of fence and
wearing a hat my
hand is on the wheel
and holding
the cosmos in order
even as you refuse
to blink so don’t look
at the bird zinging
headlong into a
decomposed mound of KETTLE
whatever we’re
simultaneously outta here DOXX
anyway somebody just
announced
we should all go and ring jesus off cue
wrathful philistine
trumpet you
cannot insert a file
into human bark
for the esoteric academy is dead!
—Fusiform Gyrus &
Nathan Spoon
April dots the sombre thorn
A fiery searcher
beetle sorts its wings
Seriously.
on the flat warmth of limestone.
A river is a toad.
The clay colors the
bank
Also, drink the black milk
in brick red, hot as hell.
when writing. If you do,
The beetle is a
dragon
your poetry will instantly
flaming near the
cooling
become flarf and real tweeters’
Cumberland
River.
heads
will become milkweed pods.
Disappears.
—Jamie Thurman &
Nathan Spoon
I’ll have tofu for dinner
I think.
Agedashi / bright cube
I google ‘Achilles’ and click on the Wikipedia
entry.
this body glistening
like Achilleus
under scrutiny of tiger mom Thetis
on the illuminated campo:
A poem flows, as if by itself.
Ma, don’t you know
Zen? You know,
that practice from over
sunrises? You know,
the one that starts
“Shush your mouth!” Hmmm…
Now I am stirring
Fistfuls, of worries a s u n
d e r.
personal memories in along
Won’t he…
last / the day ? nope
with stronger flavors from
Were we young, too, did we learn…
the E a
s t.
save one prayer, this
gong & thrash, yours weeping
among the bushes,
crawl back out on all threes,
stopper
your leg.
I am becoming
A final shiver / crisping all over
what I am already eating.
—Alex Lundy &
Nathan Spoon
