Editor: Every now and then, an editor receives a [poem] that defies explanation and presentation. It’s neither a prose piece, a stream of consciousness, nor does it have any discernible features that showponys it as an artform. It just is. “Everything is reality” is an obvious example. It butchers, it slices like some acidified surgeon suffering from a bad
case of Tourettes and a blunt scalpel. In this way, the work is a true anti-poem with a two finger salute towards elitist pastorial poems, stuffy English grammar and punctuation rules, and cliched poetics. The key of this type of poetry is not to understand but to let it unfurl (like a David Lynch movie).
N.B. Word Count: 144
Lines: 26
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Title no. 4: “Everything Is Reality”
Line count: 23
Word count: 175+
The day of a thousand tears; second, he said,
Because you say goodbye when heaving your bank account,
because you’re [Today: o[n[e[[the ones winning what isn’t won around now welcomes the
doormat alive, drinking–smoking–obliterating sense in the n(CANTYOUALIVE?!)ame
of:]Find me on the string; knee, ring, bling, ring, ting, everyone
around now w(a)e(l)lco(i)me(v)s(e) the doormat alive, drinking–smoking–AS I SHOULD.
LIVE. THROUGH. YOURSELF, TO SERPENT’S FORSAKEN
‘gainst highway’s dawn
BREATHING–
known as to humanity it doesn’t
NO MATTER WHAT THEY SAY
WHY MUST i SAY (hH)(eE)(lL)(lL)(oO) when I’m alive?
MAKE EVERYONE COME when you die.
ALIVE around ANOTHER way
Maids of t e a r s (await staircase shenanigans
meant for the b
u
tter
fl
y’s
bla(h)
nket cea–sing to be, before the dollar worth crashes around an avenue’s cirrus
you’ll sail a..l.o..n..g.. my .c.h.e.s.t and .m.a.k.e a new home.
Jake David is a Native American writer living on the America-Canada border. When not writing, he spends his time by gathering time to spend.