Facet Fragment by amanda deutch after Bonnie Finberg's "Amsterdam" and "Please Relax"

examine the holes for angels
moving between tongues
art of surgery upon light
noisy clucking screen
so between cracks
see color
a lush street
covered in sun

Facet by Amanda Deutch after Bonnie Finberg’s “Amsterdam” and “Please Relax…”

Facet

examine the holes for angels
moving between tongues
art of surgery upon light
noisy clucking screen
so between cracks
see color
a lush street
covered in sun.
On the phone
someone reminds me of Zappa,
“Don’t go near the yellow snow.
Don’t go where the huskies go…”
But there is no yellow snow
only fresh white powder.
I plop down and make an angel
the snow so deep I sink right in.
Plie myself with espresso and
read Bernadette Mayer who happens
to be writing about snow.
I am getting closer to a rhythm of days
finding angels in the holes.
Outside, a woman yells at me
for getting snow on the sidewalk she just shoveled.
I shuffle on to get a sandwich and lemon soda.

Amsterdam (new) by Bonny Finberg

I examine my coat for holes,
angles moving toward the symmetry of age,
a crack between tenses.
The Dutch for lack of chins,
round homely Van Loons,
employ their art instead of surgery,
a gauze of light, a color scheme, a screen.
Van Gogh's wheat fields at Arles, at Cuivers,
besieged by cows,
by thunderclouds, the Reaper,
the tongues of Babel just a temporary measure.

Please relax, thank you by Bonny Finberg after Michelle Noteboom's "Untitled Landscape."

AFTER UNTITLED LANDSCAPE by MICHELLE NOTEBOOM

You former wastrel, just find the can for once looking in the wrong direction falling like a star here it’s all going like like fiberglass You You you the nitwit the gegenschein pinned the mooncalf tail of sky on autumn 

Maybe focus more on the body, there’s a substance 

that’ll stop the outline filtering forward from the depths of fallacy 

In this blurred sepia image you can’t teach a century to unlock sturm und drang 

tumblers and cylinders reflecting on the shift in the infrastructure, 

the oh-so-subtle activities and folds you itch to take apart employed inward yet again are 

kinds of origami 

but your gloved hands 

lull the galaxy.

Stake Your Turf, by JKD

After Memphis and déshabille-toi by Lisa Pasold & Schoenberg in Pieces by Johnathan Wonham (click their titles to read thier poems)

Thinking, exist, break going down to perform, low bow
which does not fire but yowl, outside triangulation
Strangu- can leave and not perform that satchel scale
which does not carry on, stitched to thinking flight
on Beale Street and again, and to gain “it’s not exactly
speech” (screech to a halt, squeal scalded arpeggio)
which dares not, ground to a—you or ya’ll yawled, say
yew, stretch up to, reach that, state your name or, say:
“demographic of departure”, a flight of stairs, 12-string,
downtown, grit or grind of the bar, sleep on it, stale, yawn
out that yarn, that tale, that good ol’ boy tune, think, stay.

Slippery Phenomena by JKD (new)

.
.
breakage
is this thin
as night
.