Louise Akers, Jeff Voss

TOWARD AN ETHIC/S OF MYCELIAL AWARENESS

Louise Akers is a poet living in Queens, NY. They earned their MFA from Brown University in May of 2018, and received the Keith and Rosmarie Waldrop Prize for Innovative Writing and the Confrontation Poetry Prize. Their chapbook, Alien year, was selected by Brandon Shimoda for the 2020 Oversound Chapbook Prize. Akers’s work can be found in the Berkeley Poetry Review, MIDTERM, Bat City Review, Fugue Journal, Confrontation Magazine, bæst journal, and elsewhere.

Jeff Voss is a poet and ultimate frisbee player based in Brooklyn, NY. He is currently a PhD candidate in English at the CUNY Graduate Center.

Maria Damon, Alan Sondheim

Braid

A Fumble of Blimp Sums

Among those marked dark liberties of vulnerability and the sensibilities of thinking through dark
phenomena of them sucker-punch are among them: ginger tonix makes the heart grow
wonder. One wonders for Ross Howard and Bob Dole, were skated holes would be around a
few items when the cataclysm and its non-apostrophe’d accumulations would finally cricket
ricochet depravity one fortunes surgeons sturgeon purges Sears four and blues smoke and
almost as much from surgical symptoms and eggs. These are the times that Ron made men and
women into incandescent guitar riffs and their souls as wellsprang knitted as the schools of
medicine said that these kayfabe Adonis. Marvin’s anterior that came about in the darkest
moth-splintered evening were forgotten ways and means quirked over-communications among
them the brawliest reproductions of broken glass and talked rooms for coming and ganging.
These are the times and surgical symptoms, or sycophants, or wrong, and Toulon one controller
into two longer inches as well as the schools of medicine from Kamal and her chemise. More
rain as tenured vehicle was the first one to sitcom into darkness, this one’s a real killer diller.
Ron was the second wand to succumb to the darkness after Dave but many years later. All
reproductions or brawls put a symbiosis of synods. All reproductions are rules can these
bleating ewes are what happens in anguish and dark rooms with broken graphs these are what
happens in the schools of medicine from come all ye fiends and flour.

The user vessels molds that rodman showrooms on or off in another way for roger Mushroom
Mcintosh once the time to go rears its hydra-headed sum of its hole. Once the time has gone to
seed tools and return the charities you can freshen the charlatan time, the time, the clownish
time tripping over its stupid shoes. And reproduction isn’t production of worry but rather a
cryptic social work. Rain is a reproduction of worry. Isn’t that true? The rain stops here.

A Bundle of Symptoms

If this symptomatic gathering is going to work from: it seems to me that this divine object of perseverance and perplexity would have to have some weren’t too transfer this darling nosegay of symptoms over to the text here and to three was going on right now into a bliss state of bluest bluets and what are we talking object Arnold S sensibilities for awesome this tiny sumptuosity is the homeless and assumes that this is capital and bob Dole of symptoms and salvations. That could make more sense to move the salivation swallows the capital of Pennsylvania Duck and Bob Dole Doll would’ve been the president of the United Effing States. To move the flawless in Pennsylvania and seems to me and the Arnold Schwarzenegger would’ve had to work from here, here in the basement of proclivity because of his bungalow of sensitivities, from which he broadcasts his slimy cache of symbols.

Only two chapter one the Bongo of sensitivities and also congas we were out of earth and a clever cleaver they’re looking for slime molds also, smoked sausage andouille bundle of syllables and use and were found something beatifically quaverly underneath the train that seemed extraordinarily sensitive and a bulbous a word also have two B-sides transferred or Bob Dole Or Us. Beloved question whether Bob Dole was overall good rule were all the jewel and then leaping sprinting longdistance calling in the old mode. He was certainly are something you can get my understanding here is not of perspicacious but no one can only try to grow and thrive on the depth of what is subject to an NT relatives, relative to a bonfire of syllabuses. A sensitivity might have some relationship to two Broadway diners in the typical old style between water witches whirlpool for a popular vortex in Japan intends to work extraordinarily well with the splenetic growth of formal.

A Smorgasbord of Rabid Thumbs

having forgotten what the rain was capable of doing what’s in in without the precipice of prepuce coming through what could only be considered the magisterial in relationship to thinking this through and why dear God and why and why this is acting and behaving correctly for the first time so that’s what I’m saying here is exactly what I mean? So if I say for example that I am going to end yourself in five minutes you will know that I am telling the truth because this speech is unadulterated I’m working on a completely different principle than the nonsense that surrounds my teeth and tongue and makes me gag on everything I’m trying to say in this and every other world. So believe it when I speak of a smorgasbord of rabid thumbs that’s exactly what I mean no more no less and that’s the way that this world is going to behave from now on thank you and goodnight. Paragraph paragraph ha ha ha forever!

Alan Sondheim is a new media artist, musician, writer, and performer
concerned with issues of virtuality, and the stake that the real world has
in the virtual. His writing is known for its “somatic grit” and skeletal
codes that partially appear within and determine the surface; the textual
body and body of text are deeply entangled. He has been producing his
“Internet Text,” a daily meditation on virtuality, for twenty-seven years.
His work can be found at http://www.alansondheim.org/ and YouTube at
https://www.youtube.com/user/asondheim/videos .

Maria Damon has published widely on modern U.S. poetry and poetics. She is the author of two books of poetry scholarship; two chapbooks (meshwards and XXX) of cross-stitch visual poems; co-author (with mIEKAL aND, Adeena Karasick, Jukka-Pekka Kervinen, and Alan Sondheim) of several books of poetry; and co-editor (with Ira Livingston) of an anthology of readings on poetry and cultural studies. With mIEKAL aND, she published the first book-length poem on the internet, Literature Nation (http://joglars.org/literature_nation/litnat/index.html).

Zebulon Huset

On Tables Named Lack

We were drunk and played the floor is lava
                          while the world outside was on fire. You
              came home and made the bold claim that
                                         imaginary friends are for children like cartoons
              or believing in Santa or eating your vegetables.
Just because flat-packed tables aren’t real wood
                          and they don’t use real screws and we got a real
              gash on the shin. You were essential, selling
                                         houses to rich people. 100,000 have died, we said
              but you said you didn’t want to hear it. Old news.
True, we replied like a Greek chorus. It’s up
                          at least another thousand since this afternoon.
              While some locals fight their facemasks,
                                         last night, a guy kidnapped his three year old
              twins and full-on Duke’s of Hazzard-ed his truck
into the Pacific because his estranged wife
                          was getting the police involved. We won
              with rum and fruit juice and you joined the jumping,
                                         crumpling cheap tables and chairs to the molten
              floor like they were the furniture for paper dolls, lava
everywhere, setting fires and shifting the ground.
                          They said the Yosemite super caldera was overdue
              for a huge eruption—wipe out the dinosaurs
                                         huge. But who’s got the decades to wait on that plug.
              We’re not on geological time here—this
is something different entirely.

Jessica Tyson, Nolan Hutton, Zebulon Huset

Quarantine Exquisite Corpse Project* #1

it was impossible to tell if the neighborhood kids were shrieking in terror or joy
         the siren was like a baby down a pitch-black hall
                     sitting on the back of the garden chair in the rain
 
the Chinese elm tree hissed leaves roiling before
                                                         the exasperation of poverty
and                          is this the peace you seek?
         Only ever                sings for you,         if it ever does.
 
Discovered in Budapest without shoes
the sound of a small motor and metal grinding and zydeco music down the alley
                     as ants carry more weight than any of us.
 
Before the calves got ornery, as they say—
         the pericos, as Pete called them, erupted from the branches
                                                         without a ticket or fare—we proceeded
                 filling the sky behind the siren—
                                         truth that bleeds into the space between your breaths
         he believed that wood milled on a full moon was somehow stronger.

  • A series of exquisite corpses completed by poets online, from their various nests.

Zebulon Huset is a teacher, writer and photographer living in San Diego. His writing has recently appeared in Meridian, The Southern Review, Louisville Review, Fence, Rosebud, Atlanta Review and Texas Review among others. He publishes a writing prompt blog Notebooking Daily and is the editor of the journal Coastal Shelf.