ditch,

the poetry that matters

Brad Liening

Brad Liening was born and raised in Michigan and currently lives in Minneapolis. His poems have appeared in places like Anti-, Conduit, H_NGM_N, and Forklift Ohio, and he's the author of Ghosts and Doppelgangers (Lowbrow 2011) and several chapbooks. He helps edit InDigest Magazine, and online quarterly journal.

 

N/A

Trumpet bit torn for mustard,
Piranha patch gone to seed.
See if you can

Pickle this jar of plangent.
Stick a wave through the air

And parse a flag.

Taco like despair rolls a rube
Down to the raw nubbin.

Funk for commerce,

Raw nation debtors
Flank the markets dinging.
Lower than expected,

Which we saw coming.

 
 
 
Nap

Sex blasting into the roof.
Scrapings fill the taco cart
In the rubdown sleet.
Cities are awful,
Cooked dark and suckling.
All night long the casual friends
Grind their children into age.

 
 
 

Baby Boom

Bird skull atop the flying man
Gets the long shot sexual yen

At the tantrum school.
A scudding gimlet for

The lovely mammaries,
A rote hex for your fuckers.

Glitched feelings at the eating
Contest, total sidebar dying

With so much left to say.
Isn’t that always how it goes,

Annihilation to a shuffling beatbox
After a lifetime of talking.

 
 

Tax

Potentially awkward pillars flex
Hard through their inner night.
Cool breeze opens a cross
Clot in green glass.

Brochures inform your motherland
In the courtroom decorum
Annals of squealing hair.
You are here.

The stakes are too high to console.
Bridges shiver and lift.
Public art appears and gleams.
Inner light clots.

 
 
 

Ex-breather

We’re setting our sighs low and awful.
Sightseers wave and cringe widely.
At the airport everyone wants to die.

Windows the size of rats open and vanish.
There are worse worlds than these,
Authorities say over the PA system.

Your destiny grows very thoughtful now,
Wizardry unarms the children.
Empty head gets emptier.

Magazine dome of sky glossy and dead,
Patterns of pastries and weight loss
Sing repetitive hymns into cans.

Authorities get more and more like themselves.
About this world I know only a small exploding thing.
Rats on airplanes means everyone wave.

 

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                                                                                                                  July 27, 2012