Month: February 2013

Portion of Boundlessness
By Jonathan Huey

O substitute fruit purees in oversized heart,
massacres of indigenous in Tabasco Mexico,
the oil steel industry structure,
an American Institution
like the Peace Corps or Boy Scouts,

Voodoo is the object of a life’s endeavor;
for Russian aristocrats could never
comprehend the primitive language
of Aboriginal Japanese, and
female warriors of ancient Scythia,
and Punjab, and Kashmir,
and amber shadows of the pantry,

original understanding
protoplasm mind

Inferior conviction ameliorating
post-modern facade, the
breath of Artaxerxes was
notoriously foul, fleeing of
the spherical mass contained
3,000 oxen, accused of being
Basque terrorists,

He attacks the world with Spanish Bilbo,
annihilating organs lacking a
corresponding mirror image,

his name is Symmetry,

I hope to escape him-
by flourishing into invulnerable vegetation,
a mass of blossoms, or dissolving
in the wild hyacinth;
he will not find me in the blunderbuss at
the bottom of the ocean,

for I will not guard treasure,
but will only create treasure

let that be your canine tooth.
***

Hanging the Hook (words – 200, lines – 48)

We should learn to gauge the muse
This is a tool I use:
Seated upon my throne
I glance down between my legs
The bathroom linoleum
its chaotic random patterns
lure me into a space
just outside intentional focus

So invited I choose to accept
a floor mural faces
whom never kiss and tell
They do defy reason
with an inclination to embrace madness
This hook I never refuse
as I rush to my desk
wonder what I was in there for

It took me half a century to discover
the brain bowl of most others
is not full of bloody singers
a symphony of the damned
a mute choir thrashing
Come awake and sing us sing us
You are insignificant
your attempt to sleep a vile insult

She had smiling eyes
just enough flesh there
where a man might die
for a kiss to dare
Hollow chin raised throat
Ah then swallow me
death’s face life a cloak
just refuse to be

She likes the black car
whose driver slips
between the wires
lights her cigarette
makes a noose of her sex
ties her to the bumper
with promises
drags her through a life of lies

Bio:
Tom {WordWulf} SternerHowe, a native son of Colorado, lives in Lafayette, Colorado with wife Karen, her two sons and his youngest son, Zedidiah. Family and riding his Harley Davidson fill up the hours left over from creative enterprises. He has been extensively published in independent literary magazines including Howling Dog Press/Omega, Skyline Literary Review and Flashquake. He is winner of the Marija Cerjak Award for Avant-Garde/Experimental Writing 2001, 2002 & 2003. His first novel, ‘Madman Chronicles: The Warrior’, is available at his website: http://pages.prodigy.net/sterner-howe. Music from the novel may be accessed at http://truefire.com/list.html?store=original_music&viewauthor=3554 or www.lulu.com/TomSternerHowe

Contact Information:
Tom (WordWulf) SternerHowe
1305 Centaur Circle
Lafayette, Colorado 80026
720-890-7217
***

Slopes
~~~~~

I am wearing this uniform but I don’t care for wars
I am wearing this uniform to beat you and prostitute you
to unchain your heart out of your flooded hat
to destroy all that we built with our own horse

I am going now to Bethlehem to build me a boat
I will then fly through caves of death and fire
and when I see you again I reckon you won’t
even think about looking at my shining face

My face will become gold and fire out
of my nose will arose the words you say
and just when you think you understand

What I am saying your tongue will be dryer
than the desert, and your words will invade
your ears, do you hear my slopes now?
***