ditch,

the poetry that matters

Andrew Lundwall

Andrew Lundwall is the editor of Scantily Clad Press (http://scantilycladpress.blogspot.com) His poetry has appeared in numerous print and electronic literary journals internationally, including La Petite Zine, RealPoetik, Seven Corners, PFS Post, Big Bridge, Shampoo, Moria, Near South, Miami Sun Post's Mad Love, 88: A Journal of Contemporary American Poetry, Otoliths, rock heals, and Blazevox. He has released two chapbooks, klang (deep cleveland press, 2006) and funtime (Funtime Press, 2007), a collaboration with Adam Fieled. He lives in Wisconsin.

CHOICE

 

                as beautiful as inside. is bars on windows. that's because it rains. it's here. are loading ghosts one at a time onto trucks outside. listless listening. metro. ahead of ideas. & exhausted. just because. or instead.

 

 

 

A HAPPY FUZZY BLUE SHARDS

 

                increase the scenes. the shock favoured. slab in lieu of face. glass sweep all into scattered exhibit. my eyes are 1960 rubbed in the orgasmic vertigo. talking static in radio problem or sign each look like a pocket catechism. dance ahead of ideas. truth is.  klepto with a pacific fuchsia interest. taste like struggling or ether cigarettes. numb hat of blood makes mind up. & klepto was found plucking noises that lisp. spit of decadent mouth pole vaulting into splinters. windows in juicy raid around the ankles. a happy fuzzy blue shards.

 

 

 

LITTLE AMERICA

 

                sight fingering the movement. buckled up candlelight walked all the way here. release all over the maladies of a sweater in a window. volley splotches of dream. cover much ground. illinois days of things to put off. this is a nice form of klepto. can't stand more believing. being alone chats with distance. dines on the pearl of easterly light. ambassador have new eyes. some nakedness in the atmospheric transactions. metal looks thundering on the steps and the air color of little america.

 

 

 

RINGLEADER

 

                anxiety is awake clothes shards. fences ache. 9pm alone excuse sad. shit like fluke like speakeasy. thorough-hipped bíllow of bottle towards ruined. nervous fingers bounce under the heaving nougat of choice. or a direction the exhausted. & then we happens completely flexing american. who lives us? wonderful too hurts the dirty falling hope steps phantom. eye yes we’re an incident. specifics dancing under caps lock of lips. space the tongue’s tourism. static between medusa’s specific news. & the earth’s this ascetic workshop. & so's the moon. beauty’s crowded star utterly spent.

 

 

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