Daily Archives: July 3, 2017

circus- by Michael Mc Aloran

the curly mind linguistically innovative poetry - weird & risky

of the burnt bones and yet

the circular eye/

(absurdly)

in the drapery of

tears

sing gladioli

I shit

my skull my starry death

into a vault of

the redeem…

steel held

combustion of heart

burnt black

the scar’s breath given to take from absent lung

circus of clear blood

asking of the never/ more…

bound cries fettered by the obscene silence cleft still

till stillness

claimed/ undone

..

From ‘All Stepped/Undone’, published 2013, Oneiros Books…

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what will- by Michael Mc Aloran

the curly mind linguistically innovative poetry - weird & risky

the night’s claim

sudden as

restless death in fields of shattered glass

and the reek of air

lest shadow be/

I asked of

the cadaver mist of silences absences

(claimed/ yes or no)

I take from the dogs what will/ what will feeding/

feeding

fucking the life

from the idle light’s

indifference

..

From ‘All Stepped/Undone’, published 2013, Oneiros Books…

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abounding- by Michael Mc Aloran

the curly mind linguistically innovative poetry - weird & risky

(in)skin of none/

embers   final

and the balk of

despair’s cleft/ obscene

the dregs the taste of swollen eyes (O)piated

the fields close around the throat of fist I/

left to scarring

redolent

of the breath irredeemable

trading bone dice

for shadow’s bound and winds to know

I spy/ kaleidoscope

the infinite

I am of the none/ stun abounding

..

From ‘All Stepped/Undone’, published 2013, Oneiros Books…

Michael Mc Aloran was Belfast born, (1976). He grew up in Co. Clare. He is the author of 16 collections of poetry, prose, prose poetry & poetic aphorisms. His most recent book, ‘longshadowfall’, was published by Editions du Cygne, (FR)…

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& if shame by David McLean

the curly mind linguistically innovative poetry - weird & risky

a pointless except to remember, because pain is a deft teacher – & evil & wrong just a bad, an obnoxious. & a pillow is razors & offensive – here are the slow gods, their tedious prayer a huge forgiveness. night is a truculent vampire inside me, & day a fighting dog happy. here we assemble a huge absence, a dead flower. time is a cigarette in my pregnant fingers, i stub it into nothing; it is not important. you are whatever eternity is &, i can save existence for your every instant.

here is a great silence arrogant as absence – words are scissors & innocence, & i can tell you, Emma, where every god is always missing there is no such thing as distance – the world folds a caterpillar, a cocoon – which is whatever it is that love is.

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between my ribs by David McLean

the curly mind linguistically innovative poetry - weird & risky

lives inexorable empty & only you there, & that only fragments & dust. every temporary being we shed like skins no longer needed because they have forgotten their meanings. the sun is in the heaven her psychotic dance – she moves so slow i barely notice & light is there for hurting. thus here is the abject, the leaf in me arrogant as every other answer ever.

still you protect me from morning & its swords, its murders, the psychopath sun. i might say i contain multiplicities once, but i am Celt so none of them get on very well together & we only want to burn down the world & zombie dentistry, illusions &, to sing love ugly & very much out of tune. 

between my ribs every word forgotten. there is a terribly patient suffering, it waits for the sun to come back, it is the same…

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