Saturday, April 15, 2017

Nathan Spoon & Sammantha Prychodko & Fusiform Gyrus & Jamie Thurman & Alex Lundy, Spoon’s Collaboratives

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
          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.

—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