CHRIS GORDON early haiku 1994-1996

March 27, 2014 § Leave a comment

 

my cold feet

step on her bra

still warm

 

fallen elm leaves

the plastic bag

remains

 

unlocking the door

the key she gave

back to me

 

I buy

another book about

non-attachment

 

 

Modern Haiku 25.2

 

 

a beautiful mouth

the postal clerk says

she likes my writing

 

 

Modern Haiku 25.3

 

 

fast-food containers

the weeds green from

the warm rain

 

 

Modern Haiku 26.1

 

 

the hot asphalt roof small white petals blow in circles

 

her hand covers my ear the sound blood makes

 

 

Modern Haiku 26.2

 

 

tea our silence and the hot still morning garden

 

light warm rain

mosquitos drift up

through wisteria and dusk

 

the full moon

coats the dark lake

boarding an empty bus

 

 

Frogpond 18.2

 

 

the orange glint of rush hour way up there a hawk circling

 

a train enters the distance empty sheets smooth and cool

 

imagining her with someone else behind the blinds the moon

 

weeks later her sweet voice it’s just a machine

 

the crosswalk whistles skimming the pavement an empty bag

 

 

Frogpond 18.3

 

 

in the dust splotches of rain half the billboard flaps in the wind

 

a gliding egret the clouds converge on themselves

 

 

Frogpond 19.3

 

HAIKU IN ENGLISH: THE FIRST HUNDRED YEARS ant ant ant ant ant

January 30, 2014 § 1 Comment

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the cloud-edge on the horizon deer head in the freezer

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Jon Cone

Issue Six

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where the lines end and the absence begins an architecture or so

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Chris Gordon

Issue Five

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clear winter sky over the radio the first bombs

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Dorothy Howard

Issue Four

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whittling

till there’s nothing left

of the light

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Jim Kacian

Issue Five

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your hair drawn back

the sharp taste of radishes

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M. Kettner

Issue Five

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meadow speaking the language she dreams in

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Scott Metz

Issue Nine

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CHRIS GORDON a book of matches

January 29, 2014 § Leave a comment

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snow from Xmas still painted on the porno shop

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thaw before New Year’s silverfish in the bathtub

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three lentils in the beach bathroom drain

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my son says I’m not playing I’m having fun

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at the doctor we divide by two subtract one

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the button I sat on falls to the bus floor

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drawn to the lollipop ants sizzle in the sun

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panties tossed on the melon rinds wet in spots

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over time the little steps take us far away

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my brother I don’t really know it’s his birthday

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hoofprints on the beach seaweed entangled with bones

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morning the bathroom empty except for my razor

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you write a list I let your tea steep too long

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with a book of matches you know how many are left

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lit by the window sawhorses covered with snow

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the corner where the blackbird attacks a rag on fire

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deep in the river a tiny moth leaves my head

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CHARLES HENRI FORD for Hypnos (Special Effects Remix)

January 20, 2014 § 2 Comments

FOR HYPNOS

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all rooms are bedrooms

imbued with trickster luster

see-through parasites

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there’s a vapor dome

with eyelid catalepsy

scraping pale carrots

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towards bloodless gadgets

rapid loading elegance

the quick release prong

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husk of what’s to come

javelins of recording

listening forest

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moldy fig in front

a quenching apparatus

glandular tubing

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to plow a furrow

tumescent spores are released

woman-shaped women

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steel-clad hoisting ropes

to sail with sealed orders

light was meant to be

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wild cow milking

trapped between amplifiers

gift of escapades

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a four-letter word

the name of the safety-pin

fumed with icy jade

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it’s a cult revel

through the heart of Orion

a whitish-green glow

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peeling scorched vermin

ambrosial split seconds

black is for Hypnos

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your thistles vibrate

generation of transplants

dissolves on his tongue

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pinching a tulip

distrust of alien broods

a jasper necklace

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swamps of radium

the ticks go in winter time

made of snow fence slats

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don’t get lost on Mars

to spherical overtones

owls will prophecy

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face of oval scorn

I’d show your mistress quickly

the cloves and nutmegs

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CHRIS GORDON a ring around the moon

January 19, 2014 § Leave a comment

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after the movie
we find the ants
in the bag of candy
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footfalls on the wooden
floor I can hear what
I did to your knee
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the foundation separates
from the house ants
carry off a beetle
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silence on the phone
a spider darts out
from the matchbook
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the crow in
the road refuses to move
a thunderstorm at dusk
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at the bookstore
we pretend we don’t
know each other
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yellow dawn waking
up to the taste of
vomit on your lips
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a bit of your breast
as you lean over for
a piece of cold pizza
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where someone walked
the grass has lost its blue
sheen of dew
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at dusk the heat
inside the house pushes
the door open a little
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your panties soaking
in the sink today
the crocus bloomed
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the bank teller tells
me there’s a ring
around the moon
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she’s taking a long
shower I add up
the receipts
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empty nut shells blown
by a warm wind a rag
that smells of gasoline
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waves of heat rise
from a tin roof a balloon
in the distance
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a few grains of sugar
at the edge of the fire
slowly smoking
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a woman in white
furry boots I drop a handful
of screws
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at the end of January
we see the sun your results
off the chart
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after our fight
we both wind up at
the pineapples
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CHRIS GORDON the yellow payphone

January 5, 2014 § 1 Comment

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it only takes

incoming calls

the yellow payphone

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when you buy

a newspaper

the yellow payphone

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the yellow payphone

the only one

in the neighborhood

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next to

the ice machine

the yellow payphone

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if she’s angry

call her on

the yellow payphone

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additional charges

may apply

the yellow payphone

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the store’s closed

it’s still lit up

the yellow payphone

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calls may be

monitored on

the yellow payphone

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it smells

like cologne

the yellow payphone

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a call from

the sheriff forwards to

the yellow payphone

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all I remember

when I get back

the yellow payphone

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SCOTT METZ MASKS No. ONE

November 6, 2013 § Leave a comment

A SACRIFICE MADE FOR THE SHADOWS

BIRD CAGE to GOETHE

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A Famous Love Letter

War the Queen of Violets

one day she finally

spoke up waking

perhaps brighter days

my friend

King of the Sharks

the church bells sound

most blissful moment

like jellyfish

I would refuse them

but they disappeared

the Queen of Violets

flowed at this parting

part of a question about

as I interrupted the cloud

irrational lines

and my beautiful dreams

the distant far-extended night

in a redwood forest

in the tone of your voice

the Shark King

taking lifetimes

to be with me

wherever I go

my happiness is my home

B.

the Queen of Violets

her hallucinations

in triplicate

Letter to a New Acquaintance

Dear Shark King

I the taste of

being a scarecrow

a fatal weakness for the coast

for the Queen of Violets

left us to ourselves

the fog is so shy

since the keyhole

three phone calls

you wouldn’t understand

I suppose

the Shark King

in a big city all your life

the memory of creating an ocean

if you dropped it tomorrow

with an ocean all over again

under clouds

what do you do for

the Queen of Violets?

you expect another holiday?

the Queen of Violets

part of the bargain

buried her teeth

cordially

after the storm

Vivian

the Shark King

inside the moss

Letter to a Jealous Sweetheart

My Darling

why do you insist on hurting

the Queen of Violets?

our neighbors

to the next life she takes

a fear of snakes

you?

you can’t penalize me for

the Shark King

this argument so often burns

you’re only too ready to believe

the coral’s dream

certainly married to the hands

by all rights he ought to hate me

a steel worker

that’s beyond my control you see

the Queen of Violets

yesterday mother received

the Shark King

a sacrifice made

you read this line

no strings attached for the shadows

I swear

the Queen of Violets

as you once did by writing

she once took a step

outside the city

self again

Lydia

Letter Accompanying a Gift

the Shark King

his memory of stars

Dear Revised

the first frost caught me

dilly-dallying with a sweater

the Queen of Violets

winter without it

a hole cut in one night

I could protect you

against the north wind

love has tamed me

it has kept me with a bomb

chained to my chair

the Shark King has fallen

in love

the result, mother

you may even put in

an order for a muffler

your own

the Queen of Violets

what was her last memory

of me

a bottle of water

awaits

the King of Sharks

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Autumn 2009 / Spring 2012

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