Archivi tag: poem
looking glass poem / grant guy. 2023
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hunch & wrench / jim leftwich. 2022
Burbling
doffed Feedlot Basketball
For the Doomsday
Baffle of the Double Floss
bed foibles Breakfast
defiance of Burstnorm
Angstrom barbed
garbled fence
gruel weeping Equine
rewind Elk Wintry mix
teal Edible Rorschach
yurt Rut Tornado
umpire Turtle
Yes, Umpteen
yarrow loosely
unbelievable Openness
indelible Pinch
oil spilling Patch
Our Parched punch inedible
Sun Out Until Lunch
By the Lurch of Trust
yet Rattling Trunk
tEaching them the
Trouble
wavering Quench
Wilding the Load
humiliation jumps the Ladder
Humidity in Quaver
Hunch & Wrench aluminum
siding grunts elation
differs in fur and Fire
so Deep deep without an Ocean
Dawn of another Raw Day
Dabbles Abrasion
double fungus carpet
sodden corpus
diction siphoned Corpuscle
watering the Closet
Emptier signifieds
creeping Red Emptiness
very to very
Vocable selection
it is it & it
by the time
both Toes Yearning
yearns the night
night Yearning Light
uNder No DawN
Nor fabricated organelle
optical piñata arribada
Orotund amoeba
Rotunda options normalized
Alfalfa pinto lubricated
Baobab aridity organic
Thimble Hammers
Free Blackjack Very
episteme Essene
green like a pool table
green like a cow pasture
Rigged, a rigged game
germane mane and
germs & germs
Germs
Dim Foghorns of the
Tigers growing
Growling wild and
Glowing
Dimestore tygers howling
Lunes widely flowing frog
Thorns of the Hand are
Worth two in the birdlime
Since there is
Greased celestial
verse documented as
verse
Dogs fly
Dogs Fly like pigs
variously ungrounded
deep in the Face of verity
deep in the Face
Of Common
Sense & Causality
Very pig of the dogs
To Face-Off against
The Real
Real Thoughts are
Real / The True Real
/ The Real Book
—- The time it
took —- to become
And be a book
three collage-poems / jim leftwich. 2021
warm regards / jim leftwich. 2020
WARM REGARDS
Poems written in December 2020
Jim Leftwich
serried are the distant trees.
the list goes on and on and
on, on and on. this morning
i am thanking everyone for
last night. the matchbook
totem opens spaces sparkling
to the end. this is our next
chance. we are eligible to
be legible, but never again.
never a hat at that, not ever.
during who minus back home
in which the blemish of hubris
was strewn like a beacon
across the lawns of a small
town soup / have to become
an entrance into our own set
of unauthored circumstances.
right now a portal into the
sea elsewhere no future
that anyone can work with.
tre frammenti video dal “tiresia” // giuliano mesa / agostino di scipio / matias guerra
grazie a Matias Guerra: