They fall oblique. The head’s pin tufts bobbing. They fall rough. Could be buffalo scruff, this duck baby down. They are alien meat. Perpendicular the wing joints conniving in emerald or aqua, splaying a murky diet of mindless plankton, algae sunbathing upstream. This is where water takes shape, the creaturely…Continue Reading →
From Charles Deering Forecasts the Weather & Other Poems, by C.M. Clark. Art by Mari Pasita Andino. Published by Solution Hole Press, 1912.Continue Reading →
The mother: “Honey, what’s that smell coming from the basement?”
The father: “Well, I don’t know, hon, let me take a whiff. Why, that’s nitric acid from drain cleaner, sulphuric acid from rust remover, with a soupçon of acetone from nail polish remover.
So, what did Diderot mean by calling his thoughts harlots? That his thoughts were immoral? That his notions were wicked? That his ideas were depraved? That his dissolute mind was spewing forth figments of shameful introspection, or meditation that was wanton and promiscuous? If you think like this, you must be a speaker of English.Continue Reading →
There’s one thing for certain. You can’t be an emerging writer at 60. The math is just wrong. And a continuing allegiance to the worship of all things young will not allow any alternative number crunching. Not much has changed in the literary world since the new stars of Modernism…Continue Reading →