Five-Fifty-Five Ball Park, Summer

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The Slush-Yo-Mouth truck pulls up in the magic half-hour between softball and baseball tournaments with cobalt blue paint chipping off as the truck bounces off the potholes and split-in-half bats left on the dirt road leading into the park from the county highway. A Snow Cone in purple parachute pants, no shirt, and oversized aviator sunglasses riding a neon green …

Featured Author-Sharon Chmielarz

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Waking at Night   Such a short distance between genius and shit. Take those elephant turds Bruce Conner (1991 Walker Art Center) stacked in piles on the floor, soft cannon balls, so appealing to some humans, something we can   all relate to.  In my claustrophobic little corner (compared to the Milky Way) I am happy, moon-devotée that I am …

Vantablack

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We are all lined down; deep and thick in a pit; so black there is no other color where pleas and prayers cannot escape but seep down this jail of flesh. There is no room to bleed.   Our ghosts scoff, “Show us your chains. Give us your screams and your wails. Tell us your stories and tales of the …

Contro Verse 2

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Aum Ah Loka Ah Hung Jah Sirocco Loam Shekinah Sirrah Sung Slippers and Tea Flippers and Thee Hi Dee Ho / Hi Dee Hee Tee Hee Tee Hee Bless me Holy Father for I have pinned thy priests’ performance to a document of sins: from raping little children to enslaving Indians, from enflaming witches, to left freezing street denizens; a …

Indiana Dunes State Park

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Grievance is impatient; Grief is patient.   On the sidewalk outside the Millgate Inn, in a baseball cap, with a catcher’s mit, it waits at 4:15 P.M. Father had promised the dunes sculpted by wind and water last summer and all autumn then Persona of the displaced roots, the tiding stem that broke ground in winter before one last freeze, …

Homesite

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it’s near winter solstice; I’m checking out so I ask what happens to them   they open the bags of seed   are there nests?   everywhere in the metal rafters   and water?   they find their own…   these birds of Lowes   *   panoramic views, surveillance   keep your hat on, brim low   by Tom …

The Absurdist Son of an Immigrant Grapples with Comprehending His Google News Feed

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Google News tells me academics in India are robbing literature of any personal touch. Poor literature breeds poor syllabus breeds poor literature, a vicious cycle while banner ads of Clarks walking shoes keep stomping across my laptop. Page down leads to Baltimore cops reading Plato and James Baldwin. Then: No bombs, no guns, just 90 minutes of football. As Google …

Losing Dad

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Plum light unfolded between the dense brush of my backyard the morning of the day dad died. The night before, he refused even one mouthful of lemon meringue pie. Words were stones and old stories were one-sided casting an umbra of gray-green. That’s how I knew.   The outline of morning broke the uneasy sleep that formed between the memory …

Luminous universe

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Growing and rising slowly to the height above disbelief, we may be touched by the sky.   Perceiving that words don’t tell where angels dwell, it will be still. What we heard, is a presence in itself.   Seven, Ten, Twelve – let’s count our best blessings and accept some ordeals or misfortunes.   Can we feel blessed indeed then …

A Bipolar Spring

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It must be Spring. The begonias are vomiting diesel Again, Leaf blowers are whining like scapegoats Condemned to die Again In a swirl Of garbage and leaves, And I don’t feel like being alive today.   Why must I Again Salute the pilfered flag That just yesterday I glibly waved?   Somewhere a monstrous, moody moon Lingers like a flashlight …

If Corporate Dictators Decided

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When dictators who rule over transnational corporations finally choose to do no harm to other people or species, it’ll be an ice-cold season in hell as billionaires shout at their servants to hand them their loaded assault rifles.   When they dictate their fresh plans for the triple bottom line, will they explain to the crowd how they managed to …

The Blue Chair

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Stick-men crayoned on the closet walls like astronauts abandoned to the endless night of space, ancient grease thick as suntan lotion on the kitchen ceiling, a cloud of nail holes floating the front-room wall, slats of the fractured louver doors scattered like bones on the bedroom floor. It took a week to gather the detritus of giving up, walking away. …