Month: October 2013


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Kris Hall

Contorted cataracts begging for wisteria;

pinioned to the sweet futility

of immense color pumping vines

beyond this compartment routing inertia

adapting gazes of saline surrounding

water soaking quinoa and lentils.

Shape the person un-dimpled by

the first snowballing hour, xenization

in the mid-flooded everything.

Shape the person splinting in time

fistfuls of hair, nails, cum

punching you into empty traffic.

This body is a blob

squirming out of a bottle

driven to live quotes verbatim—


            standards are your mother’s hustle.


I’m tossed up in that

pinch with a piercing thrust

catapulting feverish stutters in the

stripped moon, clawing my feet

stuffed in cups unclipped at

the ankles. I found it

in the curtaining slow motion

where my face had been

grooved into steps by the

stacks of half transparent books

scattered on the floor. Excuses being

that we’ll keep blaming perception.

An itch I’ve mangled throughout

my history with this evening—

the brush of tiny hairs, legs.


            my history with quiet rooms.


Poetic Statement:

The chapbook from which this is taken is titled GRILLED CHEESE HAMARTIA. It is a failing marriage of parallels between road trips, shrill nostalgia, dead end jobs, and poetry. Broken narratives placed in stanzas.



Kris Hall is a writer and curator [Da’daedal/Free Poetry] from Seattle, WA.  His chapbook of bastard ghazals, Notes for Xenos Vesparum, is forthcoming in the Fall of 2014  [Shotgun Wedding]. He has nine siblings, three middle names, two cats, and one girlfriend. You can find more information



Metawriting by KJP Garcia

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Deep Reflection


first:  deep song                                                                                                                                                     second:  deep image


deep reflection


lyricism                                                                                                                                                               confessionalism




sur                                                                                                                                                                                              hyper



symbolism                                                                                                                                                                      futurism



expression                                                                                                                                                                commentary




* * *

pond is where Narcissus and Echo’s bond is completed.  surface is conduit and what is seen/heard is endless circuit of sensory.

* * *

reflection always contains more than merely what was presented for perception and surrounding frame is also more of picture.  ambience = experience.  atmosphere accounts for all that cannot be described.  what notes which were not played are for subconscious fairies to hear.

* * *

minutes can’t last long enough to be displayed in full.  sensation is always in translation.  heart to mind/brain to gut.

* * *

“one perception leads to another”


“work with mental ears”


* * *

each poem dies for its own sins

its ‘withouts’

its omissions

its inabilities

which are

shut mouth                                                                                                                                                                 open eyes


open eyes                                                                                                                                                                   shut mouth

one foot fearing

to be in front

of another


* * *

if it is there it can be conveyed

if it occurs it can become


if it is experience(d)                                                                                        it is shared

* * *

the glass                                                                              the eye                (5 senses)                                                 the memory

(mirror/window                                                               form one triad                                                          (thought, prediction

spectacles)                                                         upon that                                                                            fantasy)




quick as can

        be movements in the midst

while also letting its own existence be understood not as observer but as observed


BLUE-DYEING by Orsolya Fenyvesi

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Orsolya Fenyvesi

 Cloth dyers make

gestures of collapse.

Water moves towards the miracle,

where those dwell who

cannot comprehend its scope.

None shall find a home in colours,

but may take a rest in the sameness

of the faces and the tissue.


In each moment, there is a single lonely man

and his memories stretch the horizon into a ring.


Antique statues may live in garments,

but cloth dyers prefer to think of the blue

of drowned men.


When the seas are all erased,
the lonely man drops his skin.


A blossom drinks up all the fury.

 (translated from Hungarian by Zoltán Móra)


My name is Orsolya Fenyvesi, I’m a Hungarian poet, whose first book of poetry was published in 2013 under the title “The Animals in the Mirrors”. I was born in 1986, I live in Budapest, and currently I’m trying to engage myself in a poetic approach which connects nonsense, sensitivity and conceptual poetry.

Poetic Statement:

The pillars of my first book of poetry are two different constructions of memory, the personal  (i.e. the metamorphosis of common objects and everyday events achieved by juxtaposing them against poetic expressions of light and time) and the collective (i.e. historical and contemporary symbols and phenomena manifested through the metamorphosis of the speaker).I tend to create something new from the source of the already much used, remodificating past and future in the present, compressing history, hundreds of years into one single human experience.

goe jus in verdana by Catherine Edmunds

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goe jus in verdana


Catherine Edmunds

go, sulky baobab; benbecula comes.

if daleks entreat, or cover this lampland,

and if they should walk in twos down the flume,

then jaffa will squeeze extra jus in verdana,

and none shall be ever in shade again.


wotan’s doppelganger languishes in gaol

with cajun cake, a drab pound of kitsch.

ezekiel asks:

‘and if elfin, if doubly quick, the north idle sea?

what if, in holy waikiki?’


‘deaf john, I only attend the end here in keld.’


the djinn munches salad.

I ask and he hands me a codfish of bluebells.

‘silk dhow, how goes it?’

he smiles and lurches

angora and galen.


I woo you in look, double juice,

and keith, oh keith, jokes and hands me his hope.


a sad one is adept and fickle.

play, you oligarchs!

delia, loki, don’t run away

but vamoose, babushka, vamoose.


all pomp.

the clippers fade and return wallish walls,

trying to sail from crayon to heliotrope –

lipid hyena, oily as death.

long-lost-gone-wronged, sodden regardless

now reaping reward

flailing southwards

and ever


goe jus in verdana.



Poetic Statement

I write novels, but sometimes I cut-cut-cut the words until I end up with poems; distillations of story compacted into reflective shapes.


Prolific writer and artist Catherine Edmunds has more than 450 published works to her name. Solo works for Circaidy Gregory Press include the poetry collection ‘wormwood, earth and honey’; the magical realism novel ‘Small Poisons’ – a contemporary tale for Midsummer Night’s dreamers; and ‘Serpentine’, which explores what happens when art doesn’t only reflect life but is life itself. Her latest novel is ‘Bacchus Wynd’, an intense tale of personal re-invention set in North-East England.

Two Poems by Wayne Mason

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Two Poems


Wayne Mason

Automation, Man (Bold Machines)




singularity, sometimes free

much more impossible.)

Machines are on

conceptual                      revolution,

Industrial natural rhythms

(obvious networks)


  music, beyond


Navigating both


ego of skin





Evolution Art Violence

Minds spurt

of    enhanced

dreaming,     crackling of eternity

(I think so, more amazing machines)

The rearrangement of art

and liberation           violence

and  unlearning of boundaries

We are contradictory while

we are contradictory while

we are contradictory

Arbitrary rules of art and

learning of  life

Contradictory while we explode


Retool exploitation for

the sake of possibilities

Here now…… We start with consciousness


Poetic Statement:

When I was much younger I aspired to change the world. Now years later, my work stems from a desire to change myself by exploring my own internal terrain. In the end the strangest, most profound journey is not the one outward, but the one inward through my own psychic landscapes.

Wayne Mason is a writer and sound artist from Central Florida. His words have appeared across the small press in magazines both print and online. He is the author of five chapbooks. and is the former poetry editor for Side Of Grits, and The Tampa Bay Muse. Wayne Mason has also been active in experimental music for nearly twenty years. He records ambient, experimental and noise sounds, formerly under the name of Zilbread, and is also a founding member of the experimental/noise project Stickfigure and electronic duo Blk/Mas.