Michele McDannold

by Tim Murray “Hello horses!” said the horse. — Bernard Wiseman Clark Coolidge musta stubbed his big toe While carrying a platter of words Spilled ‘em all over the page he did And I’m gonna make it outta this hogdamn Generation without getting tattooed Yeah I’m an old hermit grouch Peering from behind the grumpy …

Audio

Your Mother’s Medicine Cabinet Radio Series: Neil McCrea. October 15, 2012

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Oct 15

Discovery

Categories:

archives, Citizens for Decent Literature, Issue #3, Poetry

by Michele McDannold

by John Grey Arms, ribs, pelvises: this is what they dug out of the mud. Don’t disturb anything said the woman in black shawl but they already had. Old graveyard or massacre site… this stuff still had to be moved. Chop it up, boil it down, roads are needed, shopping centers must be built. So …

Oct 15

we get what we deserve

Categories:

archives, Citizens for Decent Literature, Issue #3, Poetry

by Michele McDannold

by Keith Landrum blind believers salt my wounds with forced tears of mercy and they tell me there’s a man above and a beast below and I am stuck somewhere in between these believers with their fear drenched faith warn me of an end yet unseen and I must choose a place for my soul …

Oct 15

Not Yet There

Categories:

archives, Citizens for Decent Literature, Issue #3, Poetry

by Michele McDannold

by Brenton Booth I see the sparrows dying on fence posts children slaughtered in department stores— their blood an essential victory— 24 hour newsstands moulding the clay of decades chants for the honour of long dead gods art more silent than tears— this is it: the big bad sunshine the words that fall like screaming …

Oct 15

Intimations of Mortality (Or, Lamar Pye Contemplates, What Could Be, His Last Supper)

Categories:

archives, Citizens for Decent Literature, Issue #3, Poetry

by Michele McDannold

by Jason Ryberg Through a mad dog’s eyes, the right subtle shift in perception, like the tumble and click of a secret code or complex equation, suddenly fathomed at 3 or 4AM, maybe, can bring you to your bended knees on the cold flower-patterned linoleum of God’s dungeon floor. Soon you find yourself there, nightly, …

Oct 15

The Slippery Slope Of Infinite Regression

Categories:

archives, Citizens for Decent Literature, Issue #3, Poetry

by Michele McDannold

by Jason Ryberg Those far-off and fleeting buzzards of indeterminate feeling, pyrning and gyring on the horizon, those flittering moths of thought recently seen accumulating, at the oddest times, on the shimmering quicksilver edge of your mind’s magnificent fish-eye lens… they’ve been rapidly devolving into dubious notions and bizarre insecurities concerning the teleological motions of …