Big Bridge #10

Export: Writing the Midwest

 

Andrew Lundwall

 

Apparently: The Odyssey

APPARENTLY:

                this one's for all the fine writings of violence inflicted on the skin of one's name

                often come writing

                testify




THE FIRST SIGNS:

                the semi-automatic action factories unfolding flower the body divvied out in crimson flame flare

                flux it up into so many positions




SUITS:

                dismay forests of hands reaching obscure roads

                'I Don't Speak' says As They Do 'but've found my places on the sand to bury a few heads in'

                legs sticking out the suits glee club chime 'i think that we've found exactly what we were looking for'




ALL DOLLED UP:

                isolation the explorer utterly missing in all influences handlebar mustache featured steel demon wing




WITCH'S TIT:

                haunting haunted images off the compass insert fractured polka dot vodka godiva who bent a shadow down cycling street

                banish this for no apparent reason well other than hootenanny-in-the-blue-room-with-all-of-the-ladies




MEET THE SIRENS:

                i'm too certain much flattened when the space ship had landed

                community metal split into flame at the community house in between bodies

                'put on the gloves conquistador of crotch' the curling irons sing ‘when captain brings the cough medicine’




OUR HERO SPEAKS FOR THE FIRST TIME:

'i don't never call out sick out sick baby' hero folds one of his own into a new shape like a torn new pair which is which hero not entirely sure

 

Phantasy

she's like a plume of blood in a world of smoke
i think watching the clock catching scent

                     of the odor unusual crawling out
                     from the spaces under its arms

and by the way reader
have i confessed

                     this dream i have
                     i wish to erect

a tall pillar
fashioned from

                     human teeth
                     to climb to the top

and net a cloud or two
fall from up above

                     into something glamorous
                     with a thud

spilling
my enthusiasm

                     and my love
                     my wicked love

like an chicago-esque
oil slick

                     all over
                     space


Previous Midwestern Writer      Midwestern Writer Index      Next Midwestern Writer