Missings by JKD after The Cull by Sean S

All missing about writing a train on fire a woman derailing scheduled leaves leaving all remember missing monsters under the terminal roof fire cascades of glass pragmatic leanings toward a missing leaf a bugle railing against all eyes heavenward seated borders and second class missiles aboard leaves muse musing that mumbling about travelers’ hats a left bolero the soaked beret in doors recalled remembrances of a house on a schedule held over mediterranean suntemple writhing fire the derailing terminal sliding waves that mossy missed missing means all aboard the whistling writing firebrands on capped caskets pulling out over deer railings tracked leaves leaning mildew under felt featherbands catapults shatter-glassed fronted window or aisle seats the luggage lumbering leafed through missings about a trail on fire a man scheduled leaving pragmatic borders kissing

fragment: bone by Amanda Deutch

dental arcade
palaelodus
plume d’oiseau

answer in

"A Love Note Left Behind" by Rob

Paris,
I will miss
your obligation to make kisses
and the smak of foreign tongues;
but that's about it.

Slippage, by JKD

After Amanda Deutch's "Flask", "Terminanl Inferno" by Amy Hollowell, & Sean Standish's"The Cull".

I am in a dangerous mood at the end of the rink, my
undercover PI coat giving me away, bungalow afire
right now your pink flamingo drink spying the laser
sight you down the red want all I do is monsters
American or otherwise, to walk any weather, wake in
underflows of, stinging, underbreath rays about
love and wind, flings and sunken sirocco slabs.
There is the sound of treasure, a cold clank in the night
creak, creep along the plank to walk Tuesday pull
your hair back before, so easily, I fall into you.
Grown and dying, groan and… the coatflap open, the
exposure in love with, bleary-eyed, sub-Saharan, over
the corralled reefs or ears, Earth, around your pinkie
I call you a cab, every name but the one from Brooklyn.
Naked, you take the 4 train, crawl out at 16th street like
a performance piece before coughing up the number. Torture
never felt this exquisite in tights, the mighty slip-down-the
groined packet I will come back towards, lighting a pipe,
a cigarette for the dame. Your spilt daiquiri stains his coat, it
could be just a sign, just a code to signal but for how
everything is every gold, round a step back, aquatic urban grey.
The long end of the stick? On fire. Heard any good voices?
A pixie leans right along the avenues. I catch it on sepia film,
cross your statements, gaze with a gaggle of good ol boys at
blogged photos of thigh-high stockings in a meat locker, eat
salamanders. Could we shuffle the deck, try again. A hook
for a hand is not as cliché as the classic fishnet digging
into the edge of heels. A marcel wave in the blonde silk with a dark
line. Ash, lava. Rock deep between to sea and this bar’s a dive.
Asked, will be left in time? Left in ruins? A barometric shift
glints or gather round, folks. This babe’s a doosie, but whodunit
really? I step out onto the plank. I might push, I might go under.

the cull by sean s

after Flask by Amanda Deutch,
Terminal Inferno by Amy Hollowell


All writing about missing.
A man on a train. A woman on fire.
A schedule derailing. The
leaves kissing monsters.

Remember
the bungalow of my eyes held the heavens,
the skies over the terminal roof
seated on the border of España and France.

Travelers' hats roll indoors from the soaked
mediterranean azure, the suntemple
swedish girl's skin,
chatter of espresso cups on glass tabletops.

Wings folded. My
table surrounds me. Coffee
in my mouth. To push you
in there, every inch, a slice of café
cake filling my mouth, liqueur
spilling down my chin, to hear as in touch
the blind chuckle in my throat's mess,
your hips caught inside
my elbows, shoulderblades arched
against a wall, the avenues from
your knees to my chest. And let's say
clothing on marble floor. A sports bra.
Glacier glasses. Ankle socks with those
grippy feet. Necklace.

I am the left ash, the avenue of
beetle-stricken trees
burning at some stranger's mercy.

All are left in time. Too
immortal for our deaths
pleasure it is we.

Terminal Inferno by Amy Hollowell

After Amanda Deutch's "Flask"


Everything is on fire
roaring in licks
that I covet and
abhor.
You see me
I'm desiring
the desire for desire.
In my mouth
your foreign tongue
is an ember
aglow.
Occupy me
sound me and cull me
for cries
fathom my avenues
without time or a thought
of current address.
We live here
in the burning terminus.
Nothing is ever left.

Flask by Amanda Deutch

After JKD's "After Fall"

I am in a dangerous mood right now.
All I want to do is kiss monsters
American or otherwise,
to walk in any weather singing
underbreath about love and wind.
There is a sound of Tuesday
pulled from your hair.
So easily, I fall in love
with years.
Earth, grown
and dying,
I call your name
from Brooklyn
then take the 4 train
to 16^th street.
I will come back,
but for how long?
Everything is on fire.
What voices, thighs, avenues
will be left in time?