Category: Uncategorized
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How hard it was to slow down and enterthe world of the mollusk as it openeda door to let me in the walls gray-redwet and oozing like breath it took gettingused to the way the floor zigzagged undermy feet there was a guttural rhythmicmusic so we danced the mollusk’s danceis…
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I thought my truck / Come on now, just pick the right pastthey are baby ponies / Mr. Sitter at the whole scenehe was in tearsand it was heavenneon to hearlittle bored too / the plaque’s a diaper nowdick’s horrificdrink appealsany brand earslightly under the surfacewater is day / They’re…
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You could makeA list of objectsTo the side of the poem (abreast)And that would beThe second verseMy name wasA. Geranium laughingLooks like my head (a breast!)Off to the sidePoem as positionOccupied for a couple flowersArthur’s friends saidAs he was dyingHe just kinda turnedInto his music (.) (.) (.)All our dittoing murmursWinter includedWater includedThe same five…
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A shower? With decadent candles?? You must be confused,me for someone else, that kind of thing. Thank king of things,please tell me what the dice read. Hmm… silence. That’s alright.I’ll take it! And put it all on red. Somebody showed me the way,the foolproof method to win at roulette and…
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— from Issue 2 of Rampage Party — Matt Broaddus is a Cave Canem fellow and author of Temporal Anomalies (Ricochet Editions, 2023) and Deeper the Tropics (BUNNY, 2024). His poetry has appeared in Afternoon Visitor, Copenhagen, mercury firs, and Rampage Party Press. He lives in Colorado and serves as…
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I come from a long line of womenwho love Soviet drugs who know dancingis only something you can do alone who are so so goodat scratching backs and singingon command Two fingers in my mouthdon’t make me gag anymore I always rememberwhat I’m working for There’s nothing like having a…
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discs singing we copped multiple robbers cropped // it’s fungible riptides wung // to sand what storm we bring it thing it // englishes us gushing out in grace it ate us did deflate a resurrection if what ingratiates sustains — from c̶y̶c̶l̶e̶ ̶h̶u̶m̶–published by Sistrum Books Sold out? There…
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peaksand the city -wan massof WritingMarked withweeds. Certainly squirrels live in the woods hung sleep quelled the rioters marbleminor rods of airsome quiet bird nothing for pride light boats performor a harbor a lightprint to foundpaper the land magic made of paperprocessed other cornersrolled seclusionsspentflung vineyards andoyster bedselectricarea wrinklesseminaries area Wrinkles the bath the bedthe formal ox the cartthe grown mountains peeled yourrazor edged between from the map everything by small gray Light and warded drama…
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It’s in the home where dreams grow udders.The milk of which is sleep. It’s in the homewhere mouths grow avenuesof milky, sleepless air, and it is in the homewhere we grow udders, and we touch our husbandswith the dead arms of our grief, the milkwe cannot drink, the dreams that…
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The distance between the mirrorand myself is a cloud of clouds.But nothing raining today,just my reflectionsshooting each otherwith dream bulletsaround crowded corners.Fruit exploding in the political,revolvers emptying of little Kants.I ducked into a meat marketto escape the delugeaccidentally disappearedfor weeks. Came back cleanas a cucumberas odorless asmy mirror egos.Mechaskypenis throwsa…
Poetry Nightly 