From realpoetik at scn9.scn.org Mon Jul 5 13:32:13 2010 From: realpoetik at scn9.scn.org (RealPoetik Magazine) Date: Mon, 5 Jul 2010 13:32:13 -0700 Subject: [Realpoetik] JOSEPH MASSEY Message-ID: PRESCRIPTION To think through each word's particular weather. To stand just far enough outside of the page. A field drapes the eye in limitless revision. How shadows that fill the gap between two stones imply the sky's weight. *J**oseph Massey* lives in Arcata, California. His most recent book is *Exit North *(Book Thug, 2010). -- RealPoetik www.realpoetik.org -------------- next part -------------- An HTML attachment was scrubbed... URL: From realpoetik at scn9.scn.org Sun Jul 11 15:36:23 2010 From: realpoetik at scn9.scn.org (RealPoetik Magazine) Date: Sun, 11 Jul 2010 18:36:23 -0400 Subject: [Realpoetik] JULIE CARR Message-ID: FROM *THINK TANK * The kettle boils, boils now. Maligned and languishing in an upstairs room: a lacrimal dimple trips the obscene. Honk geese: soprano duck, duck hobbles, belly first, a girl-falcon spins, rebuffs the rough draft. Too long, my husband’s sweater sleeve. My patience no: threads of what warms a baby's unrivalled calamitous hour. Full sob transpires to rust the pendulous rug, long in the arms, short in time. Without hours, how cheer? Old devotions now point to sorrow: cap’s cracked and leaking. Door doesn’t open: exit through mirror. Oh the plumbing fails. * Euphonic rubber spin, whose driving you where? Wherefore drink in the warm air pressed from the dash dash dash of my figurative folk-form. My hap- hazard phrase is cued, lit, and moving down the avenue, the avenue 8. * For not wanting to dose oneself in the mother you will receive a forty-dollar fine. Rising out of feet, and flowering, as a plumb tree flowers: an aromatic man. Emails from travelers, from soon-to-be friends, whose spelling is terrible and what does that portend? The matted hair of a doll: almost flowing, is. Breathe in. And I am not going anywhere, studied by God. Bleary from living under sun, my condition is excellent for pleasure. The “brain people” say the murderer cannot be jailed because he is only eleven. The “morality people” say he cannot be judged because he is only eleven. But the “law people” are going to take his life away. Bracken in the mind suspended above the floor knows of wheat fields and branches horizontally lusting. And an exquisite flower just today opens. How best to empty it? *Julie Carr *is the author of four books of poetry, most recently, *100 Notes on Violence* from Ahsahta Press and *Sarah-Of Fragments and Lines*, due out from Coffee House in September. She is the co-publisher, with Tim Roberts, of Counterpath Press, and teaches in the MFA program at the University of Colorado at Boulder. -- RealPoetik www.realpoetik.org -------------- next part -------------- An HTML attachment was scrubbed... URL: From realpoetik at scn9.scn.org Mon Jul 19 10:10:21 2010 From: realpoetik at scn9.scn.org (RealPoetik Magazine) Date: Mon, 19 Jul 2010 13:10:21 -0400 Subject: [Realpoetik] SARA MUMOLO Message-ID: DECENTRALIZATION OF EASEMENT Maybe she's as lonely as the rest of us, not comfortable with failure. I step into your voice, its outfit. I watch you wear your voice as an outfit. You could say I cultivated a face. In your. Make-up. I've packed up all the weather. The men having babies in their paintings. Babies history arrests outside of my museum, which is her museum. I sing into its building, unharvested with echo. Tone on sleeve. She's as lonely as the rest of us, she says. And wears it, disdainfully. I put my cheek on the frame to cool my eyes. You say you’re *writing this one as a woman comfortable with failure*. I am breathing this one as a failure comforting her. She writes this uncomfortable movement. This one has a body to zip up. This one is a reel around the baby. A bird's wingspan in a museum, its echo on my tear. *Sara Mumolo* works at Studio One Art Center in Oakland, CA and curates the Studio One Reading Series with Clay Banes. With Alisa Heinzman she publishes the CALAVERAS series and is also a Poetry Editor at Omnidawn. Check out some of her poems in *1913: a journal of forms, Eleven Eleven, Mrs Maybe, Typo, Cannibal and West Wind Review, among others.* The Mumolos are from Brindisi, the port-town where Virgil died. -- RealPoetik www.realpoetik.org -------------- next part -------------- An HTML attachment was scrubbed... URL: From realpoetik at scn9.scn.org Sun Jul 25 20:48:45 2010 From: realpoetik at scn9.scn.org (RealPoetik Magazine) Date: Sun, 25 Jul 2010 23:48:45 -0400 Subject: [Realpoetik] JULIA ANJARD MAHER Message-ID: ANECDOTE ABSTRACT Here wires dangle their limp primary blues and reds a kindergarten of upturned bulbs. At their broken ends, individuals sprouted and my eyes closed–– afraid to put one out. I squeezed along the left–– weeds of vomiting machinery cardinal direction surged live snakes entwined my thigh–– and made for the counter likewise covered. Hamstrung out I held that long eye feckless against the dark as I turned you too had squeezed–– not quite the shape–– and looking up in your eyes only my face. OFFED I had to bake him in a pie 24 –– no –– 13 ways to flight he flew out flittermouse-like shadows on Courthouse Midnight’s steps. A Ph.D. student at the University of Georgia, *Julia Anjard Maher* lives in balmy Athens, Georgia where she is working on her first book-length collection: *Four Streams : 四 川*. These pieces are part of her newest project––a Spicerian serial poem that takes Greek mythology for one of its braided subjects. -- RealPoetik www.realpoetik.org -------------- next part -------------- An HTML attachment was scrubbed... URL: