RAY SUCCRE : Not Long in the Nursery
KARIANNA JOHNSON : Goodbye Sunset
SAM VAKNIN : Fearful Love
POETRYREPAIRS v12:04:039
contemporary international poetry - for your reading pleasure,
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All the fine arts are species of poetry--Samuel Taylor Coleridge


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Not Long in the Nursery Goodbye Sunset Fearful Love  
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RAY SUCCRE
Not Long in the Nursery
He has decided that all in light-speed formats, ends of undiluted print, will cheat the extra-virgin and be pressed hard for their digital syrups. The weird will turn vogue and the vogue will turn up. He weirds and strips in this nursery to eat what can be scavenged while perched in PDFs and mailzines, to want like a boy, like a boy that wants to be him, yet can't see the pleasures through, uproaring what he reads for more of his own work, half-fucked and confused, then keeping matters dead beneath a shifty vernacular. How long can his oddity last? Not long. Not long. Already, he has heard a mysterious, motherly scream where the crippled babies suck.
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I have many things to write unto you but   I will not write with pen and ink
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Not Long in the Nursery Goodbye Sunset Fearful Love  
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KARIANNA JOHNSON
Goodbye Sunset
If only I could get closer To you Your embrace would make The past disappear Your kiss could dry All those tears How someone could disappear And leave behind The person they said they loved Broken and shattered When it could be fixed so easily If only you'd try But instead it all Fades away Our beautiful sunset Clouded And stormy Covered with gloom And regret.
POETRYREPAIRS 12.04: 039
Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato




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Not Long in the Nursery Goodbye Sunset Fearful Love  
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SAM VAKNIN
Fearful Love
Cherubim turn swords, cast flaming fig leaves on a cursed ground. With bruised heels we labour among the bitten, festering fruits of our ignorance, making thorns and thistles of our crowns. In the sweat of our faces, a pheromonic resonance. In our dusty hearts, skinclad, in cleavage, we hope to live forever, flesh closed upon itself, conceiving sorrow. Our trees are pleasant to the sight of gold and onyxstone and every beast and fowl has its name except for our nakedness. In a garden of talking serpents, cool days and lying Gods, I betray you to the voice and hide.
POETRYREPAIRS 12.04: 039
RAY SUCCRE : Not Long in the Nursery
KARIANNA JOHNSON : Goodbye Sunset
SAM VAKNIN : Fearful Love

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