HOW I LEARNED TO BE A BETTER MICHIGAN AMERICAN...
I wrote a poemy thing for Shawn Misener & Ke$ha in hopes that the two will one day reconcile their differences & finally come together to record an album of Whitesnake & CCR songs in the key of Michigan major. It’s so cold in the D sometimes. It’s much warmer at Clutching at Straws. SEE: DEAR SHAWN, REMEMBER IN AMERICA
Friends: Banango Street #4. Me. You. Monsters. Alligators. People in suitcases. The works. Come & see how all of this relates to people like Robert Kloss, John Vanderslice, & the Constantines. Also, see new work by: Melissa Broder, Lisa Marie Basile, Brian Oliu, Rebecca Bornstein, F Daniel Rzicznek, James Tadd Adcox, Caroline Crew, Theadora Siranian, Joshua Amses, Leora Fridman, J.D....
michael-obrien: singing about the river and at once not singing about the river
“…because it’s one thing to point out when somebody’s trying to put a foot in your ass, but usually, most of us, while that’s happening, we’re trying to put a foot in someone else’s ass.” —Junot Diaz
Coming Soon: Banango Street Issue 4
banangolit: Featuring poetry & prose by: Melissa Broder, Lisa Marie Basile, Brian Oliu, Rebecca Bornstein, F Daniel Rzicznek, James Tadd Adcox, Caroline Crew, Theadora Siranian, Joshua Amses, Leora Fridman, J.D. Sommer, Sarah Jean Alexander, Juliet Childers, David Tomaloff, Matthew Drew Williams, Alexander J. Allison, & Kat Dixon//art by Andrew Weatherhead
NOTHING BUT THE SHADE TO COMFORT US AND THEN
I have a storyish poemy thing up over at Aleathia Drehmer’s lovely Durable Goods/In Between Altered States [Episode 34] on the theme of manipulation, titled NOTHING BUT THE SHADE TO COMFORT US AND THEN. Media trouble much? Signs point to yes! SEE: NOTHING BUT THE SHADE TO COMFORT US AND THEN
THE NAME IS SUGAR
napmag: THE NAME IS SUGAR BY DAVID TOMALOFF NAP PRINTABLE MICRO CHAPBOOK DOWNLOAD W/ INSTRUCTIONS NAP presents a downloadable micro print chapbook for you to assemble and read.
Folks, Punchnel’s published an essay I wrote. I encourage you to give it a read, and, more importantly perhaps, engage with a few of the resources included at the bottom of the page.
Pickup lines, Whole Foods edition: “Ay girl, you feel that? That’s my quinoa/tattoo/natural soap-scented genitalia.” (Not actually) Overheard.
I KNOW WHAT DUCKS LIKE
I have a poem in Issue #1 of 1/25. If you haven’t checked this new lit journal out, you should. It’s a print affair—lean, meticulously crafted, & limited to 25 copies per issue. I’m in Issue #0 (the preview issue) as well. Get them both & take them to the park. Read them to the ducks. The ducks know what’s good. Believe that. SEE: 1/25
VIA the always far too kind Connotation-Press An Online-Artifact: “It’s MONDAY and…well…meh. But to help you cope with the Monday blues we are proud as Punch to bring you new work from and an interview with the Rumbler of Racine. The Wild Man of Wisconsin. The Genius Beast from the East. The one, the only, David Tomaloff! Fresh off his “To Kill A Poet” tour,...
WE ARE DEERBIRD, APRIL
Artistically Declined Pressstill has poetry titles on sale. Get over there before the end of the month & load up. YOU ARE JAGUAR can be yours for $7. Do this. Meg Tuite says THIS. Beach Sloth says THIS
“Wet enough out there for you, boy?” LOL yes Grandpa. “I ever tell you about the time I stuck my hand in a blender because I thought it was a damn nazi?” LOL no Grandpa, but it was last week. I was there.
TO KILL A POET, ENTRY No. 9: THE POET BECOMES AN...
The ninth installment of National Poetry Month’s TO KILL A POET series lovingly loses another poor poet in the name of balancing the scales. No actual poets suffered. Much. THE POET BECOMES AN IMMEASURABLE FOG Piss-dense & grey-spit, a specter wound its way through the tree line holes, swallowing rows of bone-tired houses gone scattered, expressionless with age. It steadied its way along...
OH JUST THE THINGS
Meg Tuite & the Connotation-Press An Online-Artifact were kind enough to make me their mid-month fiction feature with five pieces & an interview. I tell the whole internet things like,“In the winter, people look at me like I have just pulled down my pants & my dick is made of spiders because ‘iced tea in the winter?’” & “Mostly I poke the dirt with a stick & wait for it to...
TO KILL A POET, ENTRY No. 8: THE POET TAKES FLIGHT
Yet another poor poet sacrificed to National Poetry Month so that others might live. Maybe one day Bieber will sign his guestbook. THE POET TAKES FLIGHT On the roof of a building that the city says should never have been, a man—rail-thin & bowling shoes & trespassing, of course—kicks rocks off of the Northern edge, each time listening for the distinct splash as it echoes off the surface,...
TO KILL A POET, ENTRY No. 7: THE POET THINKS HE IS...
April rolls on for National Poetry Month writers. I’m just trying to keep it honest—pruning, you might say. THE POET THINKS HE IS A GARDEN In a notebook wrinkled & ruffled with wear, the poet has scrawled across three of its pages in impossibly gigantic shapes, the words, No one ever tells us what we are. We tell ourselves, or we become, or we find out the hard way that what we are is...
TO KILL A POET, ENTRY No. 6: THE POET SWALLOWS...
A another new installment of TO KILL A POET, another new poet-ghost got. Remember folks, we try hard not to harm any actual poets in the process, but scale balancing is an art, & all art must inevitably make some use of the garbage can. THE POET SWALLOWS ROCKS What is rarely said these days is that under no circumstances should any person partake in the indigestion of large rocks & garden...
MULE SIDE REPRESENT
To help promote his book, MY PET SERIAL KILLER, Michael J Seidlinger has serial killer’d me. Fortunately, I kill only oranges & rice tacos & junk, but they are taken out pretty much on a regular, so yeah.
TO KILL A POET, ENTRY No. 5: THE POET DREAMS OF...
The fifth installment of TO KILL A POET appropriates another ghost during National Poetry Month. Only a very small number of actual poets have been harmed in the execution. THE POET DREAMS OF ACORNS For eleven consecutive years, the poet slept dreaming of acorns. Eleven years make a lot of days & an almost deadly number of hours, which is too much time left to lament, especially for the...
TO KILL A POET, ENTRY No. 4: THE POET AS A RENEWAL...
The fourth installment of TO KILL A POET kills another poet during National Poetry Month. No actual poets were harmed in the execution. THE POET AS A RENEWAL OF PURPOSE In a fit of fuck-this-I-am-a-busy-poet-in-a-hurry-ness, the poet places foot, in front of foot, in front of foot, & so on—which is, in fact, a kind of walking, despite the orange glare flash of NO, POET DON’T WALK—finally...
1/25: Issue #1 is full →
1of25: The reading period for the first issue of 1/25 is now closed because it is full. #1 will contain new poetry and flash fiction by: Neila Mezynski Kelli Stevens Kane Andrew Taylor Dustin Holland David McLean Aimee Herman Erin Reardon David Tomaloff Wolfgang Carstens Howie Good David Lawrence Cover art will be more pubic domain offerings, this time some awesome medieval monster...
TO KILL A POET, ENTRY No. 3: THE POET AS...
The third installment of TO KILL A POET kills another poet during National Poetry Month. No actual poets were harmed in the execution. THE POET AS UNIMAGINABLE SILENCE A slant of green & gold makes its way from all directions down through trees & patches of starlings into the breathless chest of a lush & quieted ravine. The legs of timber go weak in the spring with the gathering of wet...
POEM IN THE PAPERY PRINTY THING
I have a piece titled IN MEDIAS RES No. 2 in Craig Sernotti’s new limited-run print zine, 1/25. (1 of 25, that is, because only 25 are printed.) You can purchase that if you would like, and don’t forget to drop a submission while you’re there. SEE: 1/25
TO KILL A POET, ENTRY No. 2: THE POET AS A VOID
Still killing poets & balancing scales during National Poetry Month via the black art of micro-fiction. I will remind you that no actual poets were harmed in the execution. THE POET AS A VOID On the afternoon that construction began—the sidewalk, leaning & gutted—the poet pushed one foot in front of the other & he strolled his stroll down to the shoulder of the shoulder of the sea....
TO KILL A POET, ENTRY No. 1: THE POET DREAMS OF...
In an effort to help balance the scales during this National Poetry Month of April, I have elected to kill off some poets through micro-fiction. No actual poets were harmed in the execution. THE POET DREAMS OF FISH It is said that every night, the poet, he dreamed of a fish. It is said how, in the dreams of the poet, every night, the fish grew more & more wild, & more & more wildly...
In the future, I will say things on the internet like, “Mostly I poke the dirt with a stick & wait for it to move” and “People are so terribly suspicious of recorders.” I know. Cool, right?
MASHING THE MASH WITH THE HOUSEFIRE GANG
Today I am spray-painting words on the bellies of burning houses, which is to say I am CRUCIFIX-COSHED & FANTASIZING ABOUT NOTHING PORNOGRAPHIC at Housefire. Cheer me on & junk!