Umbel a blizzard
in each rhubarb stuck stalk,
for I no longer herald their swing to
flamingo legs.
Shot from the half dark
diamonds that waive their away; I've pressured
blitzen in those who have quit their fission,
knowing still lets the solar unshatter
the shady half.
Mynah Nomore,
your beat-
empty organs mite madness our porching
possibilities; once standing and smooching,
you now tempt the worms looting.
Mine above
the grounded; my beat-plenty organs amp
cupids to you.
I'm perennially in
croon, I'm left and unpruned, I'm here hushing
on a whiteout to lose direction from you.
--
Read the conversation between Mary Crockett Hill and Catherine Blauvelt
...write out of the internet? A hyperlink to good old Volker Grassmuck on infinite possibility
The Work of Machines in the Age of Poetical Production, or, How the Avant-Garde was just that
Post-border poetry at Breach - stemmed from a collaborative manifesto
Marcia Casey presents a rapturous and ambitious poetic essay into the nature of being 'human'
Collaborative translation = a Shu Ting thing
