Daniel Scott Parker


from CTRL+ ALT + DELETE



for years the farmer never
the weather is full of telephones all ringing at once
kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkka kind of crazy rug burn
with the xanthous corn and a whole lot of tangled
there are so many beans there are beans everywhere
well kept and cared for honest to god work

*

dew drops clung at sidewalks meant to an odd-angled lean
pale morning light unfurled over the near invisible
forms of window sills and bolt holes untying the darkness last to
the palming shoots addressing light’s peculiar
his woody fingers curled hardly at the fibers
a rustle flinched among the milklight
that’s when he had to
he knew he had to
a whinny and a wetly gasp

*

it was too attached to me
darling
i’ve told you this more than seventeen times
just go, kansas



*

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Orpheus:












*

something nailscratched in the dirt
to make his exit first
sunlight draining from the day
to shine the talcum moon
there were so many teeth they were like chainsaws
have you ever seen anything so perfect
it took a hundred years for this one
nobody knew there was boy inside there

Jesse Mack


from The Blue Rooms


+

On good days my past likes to go for walks
among the red hedges she sips dew
from the petals & when her lips get red
I laugh her hair laughs with me we discuss
furniture glimpsed through windows & often
we seem to agree but holes on occasion
appear in wooden dining room tables
& when a lead weight gets dropped through a hole
it sinks & only I see it sinks
into a blue room where I remember kissing
Erin the sheets grew nervous in our hands
& it feels like I lean into her although I am not
leaning now it’s as if she is holding some money
out to me saying take this & I have to


+

When I came upon this tall white building I knew
each of its rooms was a part of my past
& I was a white boat grazing lightly
the water but when I rest my eyes upon
the water three parting geese deride
some courtesy extended by blueness
to remain as simple as a matchbook emptied of
matches or the way one scrape along the pavement
ties me to a mainsail draped around a fawn
the grasses chewed & permanent but like a rig
unroped from a guardrail I proceed through the blue
fog with no wish but pinching Erin’s first
feather between two fingers as often as I wish
one year could careen laughing into the next
...