Point of PromiseMASTER OF MEANING LET THE LION BE A PERSUASION BOTH ECHO & ABYSS/SHAKE YOUR INFINESSENCE MELANCHOLY BODY TATTOO HIGHWAY INSOMNIA PUNK GALLERY CRUSH HYPERRITUAL SKY OF CLOUDLESS SULFUR RECRUITING SECRETS/SAPPHIRE STEEL NEON INTRIGUE SOMETIMES WE ARE ALL ETERNAL IN THE CONSTELLATION OF MIDNIGHT MOSAIC FACTION/BLOOD LABYRINTH BLOOD ALL THE DARK REBIRTHS ARE MINE/DESIRELESS MINDCIRCUS ON FULL DISPLAY THE FLESH OF WORDS NEW MOTION SUSTAIN RELEASE PERIMETER RARE FOREVER Rus Khomutoff is an experimental poet in Brooklyn, NY. He has been published by San Francisco review of books, Proprose magazine, Silver Pinion and Hypnopomp. In June he published a chapbook called Radia from Void Front Press. He can be reached at @rusdaboss on twitter.
Read their work from the inaugural issue of Blue as an Orange here.
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Chronic Town #6Symphony and devilry.
We continue fighting in heels. I wrap my head. Around the idea of your head. Last summer’s slow. Children form a circle. Holding hands. A narrow bandwidth can be. Lovely and fragile. Or a perceived deficit. A fear of being left. Without. Chaotic CallingsEars ablaze with irritation.
The dust never seems to rest. A constant calling, Breathing out nonsense. Tones screeching over one another. Noises echo, Like deafening rattles. Pitches high, Or words improper. Sounds shadow over death itself. Caged howls, Warn of coming troubles. Senses throb, Overexposed. Silence sought, Obscured by cackling. Voices like fowl, Fed from laughter. Mimicking each other, Unnecessarily. The roars fill the air with fumes. Tales wrinkled with interruption. Thoughts unable to flourish. Buried in trauma, From the wind. Barking through teeth, In hopes to settle. Unyielding, Are the pleas. flicking lit matches at the dark skysummer storms like old man poems
come so easily these days, each line written is through tears. sleep doesn’t happen too often, i could blame the kids but that isn’t fair, it’s my thoughts, it’s these poems and not poems. drunkenness lost its appeal, the drinks are rarely poured and the bar tab has long been paid. memories fade like book pages, the ink no longer holds. i don’t recognize my hands i don’t recognize my face i don’t recognize these streets memories fade like book pages, the ink no longer holds. Orlando Garcia is an artist from California, educated in Graphic Design and Studio Arts at Southwestern College and CSU Long Beach. He uses various mediums, each for their unique processes, to consider ideas from new angles and create new takes. The experience of repeating process, altering process, and learning new process is central to his practice. Current interest are printmaking, artists books, and collage.
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