sometimes you can't go home again even though you never left

a friendly fish named frank always stayed near the surface of the tank the vast vistas of human faces in his mind always stirred up traces of an empire that long ago sank if the comte de sade came back to earth and saw the new cosmos giving birth oceans of pornography vampire novels from sea to sea what would his dreams be worth? an unknown prophet named slim couldn't swim he was thrown in the water but old pharoan's daughter just turned up her nose at him blind potato murphy played the blues he walked the hills of ireland in his alligator shoes he drank poteen dreamt of fair kathleen and paid his union dues bob, a humble barracuda sought the path of the true buddha a dinosaur banging a big brass gong followed as he walked along and quite destroyed his mood, ah a sunfish named stagger lee lived in the depths of the sea a sea lion named bob (or was it billy?) thought his paraphilological positions were silly and never invited poor stack to tea an electric eel named ed wore a path to perdition on his head he didn't know its approximate cause so he kept it wrapped in gauze and took another med a platypus named roy was no stranger to ecstatic joy he could feel the earths heart beat beneath his wary webbed feet but his demeanor remained quite coy

Icebreaker Café

Fusion of glass et aluminum
poured into paint an uneven
wall film for icebreaker café a
complete teeter-totter washout
freeze distillation desolation
bar neon coded krypton
sooty agate aggregate she
scrapes off the tallow patina
from the steaming steel relic
miniaturized but secreting
gamma and heavy heliotrope

during thaw surging they eat
dopamine drops incessantly
she likes lower deck tired of
jovial jukebox yodel tinnitus
you hit the machine sock in
the eye till it played out, right?
twined rubber veins with
frothing fluorescent ether
trans fat ballast dumping
whose turn to fluidize tonight?

What To Expect, When Expecting

He never visits her grave,
Though the fact of her passing rarely leaves his mind.
And the children all hold their secret
On the one whom they wish was still in their lives.
How lovely she'd been on Michigan Ave, in '24
Refusing his hand, and clasping the breeze,
He'd simply known that it was not long for,
When he'd see her walk off with another
Down the street.

It was true and he could not pretend to deny
That he'd lived a life in more fear than joy
And when pressed to forget the realms of the "Right"
He had no other passions by which to deploy...
The warm, kind acceptance of this woman, his wife
(Some of his worst times were some of her best)
And the more dark recognition
That she'd ruined her life
The moment she'd rested his hand on her breast.

Once, he'd consented to the trip of her dreams
While he took a year from his scholarly life;
And they rented a Volkswagon in Brittany
With the map of her finger and the mirth of her eyes,
And while she led her children through the dust motes of the Louvre,
He sat in the tour bus and choked on a Jube Jube;
The candy, of which, even today he thinks he nearly died
The Nike, and  The David, and The Hiemlich Manouver.

To see his sweet daughters, climb into the bus
And his monkeying son, with stories to tell;
And finally his wife's face fall flat, and ask, "What's this fuss?"
"Daddy almost died!" said the boy, and silence fell.
And he'd meet her eye, this news always the same;
When the rainstorms of life would threaten some fun,
And the pleasure of Art seemed to dwindle to shame;
How he wanted to ask her, "How are you my love?"

Since she was with him: the answer remained.

Then one day the dreaded charmer, arrived in her life,
And she finally fell by the comely gestures of a being;
When the words were spoken, that so claimed her fate,
"What will I tell him," was all she could think.
She had no choice, though, she confided in the man,
Who spoke not at all, while listening to her think,
He wore a burlap hoodie, held a sickle in his hand.

"Though he will miss you, he now has your dreams."

And that's what he remembers,
Nearly obsesses about every day,
Since the hooded man, finally gestured
And stole his children's favorite parent away.
For though they'd admired him nearly all their life,
And could list amongst them a few of his ways,
It was the smiling joy and dreams of his wife
That finally made, for such as them, life so great.

Semaphore

Local star galaxy cluster mustache
blue spangle pants iguanaskin boots
aggressively affected underbite
same place fourteen years later now
he is sulking chewing dextrose

babble gewgaws last glitter garland
escapes armageddon’s aerosol
his small beryl red flannel bag:
taipan tongue milk tooth
karakin sweat lime deposits
bouncing against downy chest
raw steak from kitchen myoglobin
saturated squelching on his plate

smokers now drilled to snowdrift
fir whipped fucked up perhaps
but seen through the selenite.

Sunday blew in

Sunday blew in
breezily
popping pinstriped
cuff to bare
a cunning and
ill-cutting
hand,
manicured tips
of rounded
pink extending
to un-shake
my seldom firm,
oft clammy
faith.

You should know

that a tuatara

has no p.s.,

hyena females

a fake p.s.,

snakes a p.s.

split in half,

the elephant a

five-foot p.s.

or thereabouts,

determined

with movement

as a fisted arm,

the blue whale, simply

venture a guess,

the octopus, wary,

hands over a packet,

the deep sea

angler becomes

parasitic, loses

eyes and fins to a

partner leviathan,

and as you know,

the cephalous, that is,

the head is eaten

from the God-

imploring mantis.

Galaxies and Stars

A kiss in a ghost room, fingertip skin glisten
The clock in the hall counts its gears
Shadows adjacent with ears to wall listen
Take notes in a book made from wasted years

Secrets construct a room made of flowers
Oblivious of the clock and its ignorant hours
They fall trough the air their bodies remain
The taste of the world, the core of the flame

He lifts up the curtain that swallows the sun
She breathes from the heart of the stars’ aqualung
He kneels at her alter his life to confess
She worships the hem of her self undressed

The veins of gold that run through her heart
Preclude all lovers who forget their part
In the ballroom daze of bedroom dreams
Where well-planned lives fall apart at the seams

His fingers fumble her mourning buttons
Pulls a thread of stitched-back patterns
On the lip of tomorrow his mark to render
Soul kisses fade made infinitely tender

By glissando pearl on powder cheek
By the red rising tide a beach to seek
By dew drop drained from tongue to finger
By the monsoon delta where memories linger

These ghosts relegate their cares to debates
On the relevance of analytical thinking
The universe vibrates in little earthquakes
Light discharges through stars unblinking


April 2009

the flavor of simplicity is hidden yet pleasant

It is starkly the fragrant lattice
of leaf-stripped branches black
that gauzes the linen soft of river dusk
and frames, in its pink expansive glow,
the fuzzy drop of a glacial velvet sun.

An arced string of parti-colored pears,
strung in a scarlet garden ripe with rain
echoes and re-echoes in the hushed ludic night.

Come to be drowned in eyes aqua and lacustrine,
framed by a pine torch of flickering doubts
beneath the needles of a wavering sigh
that absolves, in grace, the attic stairs of almost.

You are merely a liquid bag of liquid bags
draped on calcite branches of porcelain white,
a ghost of gray silk that quivers in the breeze.

To see what cannot be seen except through mist
is often hidden in the immanent thrill of now,
the pearly lies from a teal bowl of steaming tea.

So you hang your blue-striped bathrobe
on the chipped corner of the closet door,
skipping the knobby habit of the brass hook
in order to thank your white and holy god
that it was Bellamy, and not Rothberg,
that came to pave the driveway.

Hot Air

pull blue 

pill into 

pulpy hardware

one second

flick makes 

lifetimes 

impossible

        

     to run 

across 

frosted pane, 

rearrange skated

lines weld 

with heat 

              a cartography of DNA

seal folds 

that envelope 

secrets, things

said with pens 

or codes 

or unopened

            mouths

draw you 

down

to stand 

you up 

a million 

nerves 

frazzle 

and buzz

one wet 

           acupuncture oh              

oh                            

        

oh, such rollicking 

joy it brings 

(a tongue can be 

used on

many things)

Endorphin Escalator

Cumulonimbus cloud champers
uncork: consumption crease
his soiled suit, nylon and spandex,
real polyurethane fiber frustration
with the foreman’s pooch at his heels

Yes, the escalator, 2 meters per second
sagebrush filled handrails lag behind
alarmingly astigmatic shunting
thumping tambourine beaten steps

Trainee thrall throws potash on
the already ultraviolet fire
radiative signage, infrared snow
neuron spiders thrive in the throng
always the same searchlight changes
cracking rope lights of white chocolate
spackling paste spreading like vitiligo

Santa is armed with Armagnac
he says kiss someone’s feet under
supervision, silicon sinks in quick clay
it will pass, he hopes, soon
chromophobia, one single match left.

immer noch zurueckhaltend

immer noch zurueckhaltend



seam-bursting satisfaction, want/need/full all the time, fullspectrum enjoyment, total immersion, perfectsweet, beethoven on a good day, keep your bad days just want you to shadddup and punch the fucking keys, luminous, mango, musk, throaty whole form blast, allure, sometimes the squid loses the fight and today that day, somnambulism, rare earth, serrated, resistance, push push push push fuck, always ready always, hung by mah curled toes from th' ivy, fractions of a nautical mile, who needs a love song, i think you know what to do with it withal, nah nah nah bzzzz poppoppoppopp, wind wound jacquard punchcard act of mouth bonded watermarked hellenic resionous mystery cults incorrect bus stop assumption 1974 toronado, and holyshit didja see that filipino volcano, coconut cilantro rice, cashews, type o negative, menthol, eau de campagne, arcteryx, textual cultures, et cetera, onandonandon, pride/past, front towards whoyagot, jobdescriptionless, totenkopf, misincluded, it's not a bullet, it's a sponge, same effect: fistula, infection, aether, lives in an enormous room and smells faintly of peppermint and marjoram, powdered cinnabar entrained in lacquer, altricial yet nidifugous, huh, disables wars, adktzh hartzkst isbr, excise hanit wagons, fire differences, an ardent dextrous weeding process, a magnet with frustrated interactions, augmented by stochastic disorder, in 20 years that copper pot will be as green as mint syrup, wood, stone, shell, boar tusk, human hair, cassowary feathers, fiber, pigment, a sleeping dove under broad eaves, a bowl of ice cream, non-euclidean naugahyde, absorbency, blueberry scones that behave like claymore mines: front toward enemy, tweed, chocolate, radon, stonehenge, nat shermans, india ink, tap water, i really must do laundry, a million-watt amped, throwing sparks, wrapped in silk, and grinning ear to ear, wide awake, healthy as a big bad wolf, single-minded, live-wired, thermonuclear, blasting your coral, raining fallout on yr bikini atoll.

Suburban Neighbors

A family of Hedgehogs
surround the house,

stalks set in a trendy stance
floppy hats
at fashionable slants.

They eye the flimsy picket fence.
They eye the succulents
from beyond

the flowerbed,
a trough of violet pansies
daffodils, and daises.

Even the patch of wild strawberries
seems unsafe insight.

They circle as I sleep,
my nap taken deep in the afternoon
inside
on top of the bed
dressed and made for the day
while outside
against a steep incline
the yard waits
full of broken lime stone
and chinaberry roots
to tangle the feet
of any who wake
to contemplate
a plan of escape.

The hogs in their ring
appear to peer
uninterested,

from under oak shadows
from under porch steps
from behind curtains of ferns
dusty against the grass,

wary of invitations

until dinner,

when I savor the company
of their nutty flavor in a golden garlic butter sauce
with a chardonnay in a large long stem glass.



Akeith Walters 2009

daughters of dobermans

This time she is OTK.
As the air lock opens
she gives blanket consent
to the kosmobuksir in charge.
With the
kinetic energy of rigid boulders
orbit insertion is complete.

The time is now.
Oort clouds
above the ground
where no seismometer
detects them.

The raw meat on the green carpet.
Pink from the last blood of
arteries.
He closes his eyes under
static firing,
Lars is disciplined
our HOH sublimator
from Borås.

All is not right.
Move into
center.
The micromanagement
finished,
resistance,
mere flesh
without function.
Dignified
daughters of
dobermans.

comes and goes

weather
rain floods
sunshine
strength
pain
memories
that make us laugh
and cry
worries
side aching joy
tomorrow
seasonal fruit
fashion
technology
hope and inspiration
marital bliss
security
the morning bell
waves
being pulled
by moon phases
patience
fresh sheets
and the lack of
funding
milestones
motivation
moments of
disorientation
confidence
and too much time dwelling on
terrible twos or your teens
and now your neck
the first crash
first crush
heartache
or indifference
your mean streak
and team building skills
a beaming smile
surprise birthday cake
and a big bear hugs
friends
family too
With all in this world
that
comes and goes
It's so nice to have met you.

Night Street

Blue lights follow ridges

in aluminum siding,

trace brick, befuddle

lettering, and cast

down on brown air—

yellow reflectors

stand and wait as if

at a reunion, tar patches

lay themselves out

under the headlights

and the tree shadows

hold a seance with the sky,

their webwork of branches

netting ghosts.

Chlodnik

Household services of sliding scale
called in by self-appointed philanthropist
his house a syphilitic spider mite lung
apathetic anecdotes his rhubarb radical
puberty ammonia phial constant contact
with frothing nasopharynx nostalgia
hysteria slithered down rhenium frames

under swan’s-down stuffed Byron chair
her attempt to remove coprolite
first-rate manure if grinded but
it is an inflation-proofed artifact
colophony con urea, yes, impregnation
of his saturnine smoking-jacket
thousands of tensides not enough

he charges his Browning
Chlodnik: aggressive amaranths
his thymol etching earth, hmmm,
she fixes Cyanide Chlodnik his
dippy payment omnibus token coin
at the tureen bottom that
is all the same to her now.

Suspended Animation

Dear Santa

Seeing how
I haven't seen you now
in more than many while's quite,
I thought I'd write
this letter laden wish,
not big enough to be a list,
as it's just one thing,
and that thing is else no thing,
but a pod. Yes, I wrote pod, but not

any pod
you'd find hanging green
on a bush. I mean those lean
bits of oblong
and white that best belong
in the movies where one's out knocked
and then inside tucked
cozy, waiting for long trips,
or patches too rough, to easy slip

by. I'll glow
in my pod, yellow
digits the ticks down-counting
till zeros sing
alarming doors to whir
and pop, dropping a discovered
when both safely sound
and reanimated found
on the far side of neither's going.

But knowing
you, Santa, to be
a bastard red and jolly,
if I know you
at all, then here's my due:
one ragged blanket from Good Will,
some pretty pink pills,
and an unassembled cough
instructing me to "go sleep it off."

invitation

hello all, this blog has been such a success i thought i would try something similar with short fiction. http://flashingby.blogspot.com/ i have sent invitations to all the contributors i could find email addresses for. anyone else, contributor or otherwise, who might be interested please contact: rpenmarq at gmail dot com or timmy44444 at gmail dot com thank you

Still a Searcher, Must Ride the Dark Horse

I am the colours behind your eyelids
Sunshine daydream chiaroscuro
The optic fibrous gangliac Ovid
Night-time vigil of all you don’t know

I am the silence between the drum-beats
Sucking the air through ossicular chain
The eighth nerve objects to your musical sheets
Demanding an altogether different refrain

I am the word on the tip of your tongue
The thoughts that climb your ladder legs
And salivating savour every rung
Like a fire walker treading broken eggs

I am in the space between these words
Filling the halls so long deserted
By players and dealers of the six of swords
Crossing the water with faces averted


June 2009
Title from Neil Young's Tell Me Why

Flambeau

Lowland, through sorbitol syrup shrubbery
to booking they arrived with August’s
busloads: berry picking household services
of sliding scale tax-free inexpensive
lingering in the shack on his fenny lawn:
slumbering zygomatic bone against table
nicotine sticky gashes his tendency
to fix gravity on shower curtain wires

phlegmatic flambé cauliflower in bourbon
xantan-sangua galenite chips circling
inside his temples photosensitivity
fire flaps with radium blue nimbus eat
the kitchen fan’s old dripping stratocumulus
flo flo flambeau gris-gris not working
fluorescent tube with lard dust detonation
clay covered in mucous the December sky’s
spectrum smoky fandango E110-sun
boosted but resigned reinforcement
the creek’s carbon black keratitis.

Mirror Box

Freestanding phantom heart
The lost limb of my
Sensations of
itching
and imperfection

I cower here
Beneath the bedclothes
In the hope that
you’ll return