JIM LANGER
A veering between exposing and hiding, in the place where rich people go to do nothing, the old pig’s bladder to hand all I jam together how much to hike, coagulated timeshare, a necessary sunset blotting speed hog, no one is exactly sure how much heft the language has in physical earth terms so we go line by line averting to the beach. Commendatore calls large-mouthed from atop the knoll extending himself for 20 to 30 yards in the southerly direction I pretend to have a good time but I was a solemn ranger not permitted to know life from the living and I’m not very good at pretending honestly it’s why I never get any lines only those with his credit he emptied of money like the dog’s clarity is any nobody’s certainty a new martial plasticity today itself’s too late. The meaning is unseemly, angering people, I betrayed my loved ones for the chance to do His work, get kilt for His weekend function and crouching made merry with the minor animals, blitzing over the mechanics of our loving we are also unwilling, the wooden bag it splintered got me in the side, you pulled my hammy for a break in tradition and he bankrolled the prison guards sportscasting the shadow of the final days of the Intellect, complicit in its death-making exceptionalism, the english translation executes perfect first pitch causing actions negating each other blink with pleasure twice for an issue with your delivery, the irrigant malfunctions and the western decade returns as nostalgia, in a win-win bid for sunlit sincerity, braindead in arrivals.
LARRY SEIPLE
Florida is happy
Pennsylvania is west:
both get their kicks
from Larry
Herakles, prince of punt.
Why am I laboring
in this way?
Tom, Dick, and Harry extort me,
and the sons asinorum, wager
to take what the defense gives us
edifice of the old world’s operatives
floating into on the money.
For he deploys the clock like a science:
he spoils measures in units of corn
sustain, strengthen, build, resilience!
throngs the mountain
the rate hike in the double race.
The end and the beginning,
O dashing Seiple, glazed over in the House
of Donkey Noise laureat gilding.
What’s done is the poem’s descant toys
self-same slant of super least smithereen.
State-sponsored fuss machine
white winter woodlouse.
acclaim outwore positivity
old story my trumpet blew up.
Favor, wafted, yoked
neologic piehole leghorn aristocrat
very manly your freaky wealth.
May sun and runners run
mea cowpat civility
unreturnable bloom tomorrow as today.
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Sean Pierson is a poet and teacher currently living in Ireland. He has published poems in Trash Ladder, nite creme (zine), and trilobite.bond.