he wears a costume and plays his part well changes quickly between scenes and transitions effortlessly sometimes he slips up his lines though causing some confusion in the show a brow might furrow when realization dawns that a performance is being witnessed a mere performance at some point you were drawn in from a bystander …
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Origination in water smouldering in fog dry ashes, barren Ogilvy’s note is on the piano, antediluvian ways the notes crisp, emanate from the house which the British made for culture import, my cousins played pianoforte adroitly only Ogilvy is not there culture successfully imported. In the sitting room the cuckoo made noises near the wall…
We have learned not to speak ill of dead so close to living in the cemetery ourselves visions of head stones reciting epitaphs. The post Speak Ill | HR Creel appeared first on Best Poetry. Go to Source Author: Best Poetry Online
Henrietta Goodman’s book Antilla takes its title from a phantom island that appeared on 15th century maps. The lush poems in Antilla (The Backwaters Press) continually question what is here and what isn’t, through ghostly presences. In “What Are We Going to Turn Into?” Goodman even refers to her son as pop culture’s friendly ghost…
I recline all the way back on my levered Lounger to do what I do best: count stipples In the stucco overhead. When I enumerate Those raised dots thronging toward infinity, I feel empowered on my leatherette seat of Sovereignty. Turn off your TV, slam shut That book, throw away that sugary treat, and Lean…
We’re in a luxurious hotel suite, Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, and I — but I’m invisible and Bill Gates does most of the talking as He and Steve Jobs sip brandy from Crystal snifters and I love the word snifter But let’s put that aside because Bill Gates Suddenly proposes merging Microsoft And…
you are just some highway billboard a colorful slick message of evil intent around back only tall grass and weeds you’re some horse-mounted statue an enormous hollow bronze figure in truth your are malignantly incompetent you are ever so shockingly irretrievable that finally no one can believe the opposite The post Potus | Stan Morrison…
