Καρδιά. Kardiá. The heart. We think of it ruling emotion, when it was the ancient physician Galen who thought the liver was where passions lay. Maybe this is truer than we think—I go back again and again to the idea of drinking to countermand heartbreak, drowning one’s sorrows. Diana Vreeland telling the story of how Clark Gable locked himself in a room with a case of whisky after the death of Carole Lombard, Jean Rhys’ protagonists—the grimy, hard-learned wisdom of the café and those endless fines, pretending to be light-hearted when all the while you feel it throbbing, on fire in your throat; the Sisyphean act of swallowing beats as you drink your memories…
Note on method: This poem was composed by laying a string over 4 prepared
panels on which were haphazardly arranged pages from various texts.
The string determined the words used and in which order they appear.
We have been in the ground where all the dead lie but Kay is not there—
From The Snow Queen—Hans Christian Andersen
She floats now among the little torches
sipping on sour sloe gin
that sets her teeth on edge—
in this forest of lasers and hanging lights,
in this party that doesn’t exist—
She thought she would find him
but she seems to have lost herself
in the sheets and mirrors and slides
These images are visual excerpts from Chimera, a cycle of visual poems exploring evolution.
Here
The kaleidoscope
of the pine tree
is opening.
There is no where to go.
It umbrellas me
moment to moment –
I cannot escape its dance.
If by fire
Of sooty coal th’ empiric alchymist
Can turn, or holds it possible to turn,
Metals of drossiest ore to perfect gold.
—Milton, Paradise Lost
L E A D
(Saturn ♄)
Pentatonic maelstroms finishing the holy chore—
Galgalimic vagabonds of the Magdalenic corps.
Angels pave the way for us; I thank God for this life—
The Guardian of this thresh holds my days in strife.
Blood-morphed creature in the holy sky—
Headless black raven gives a bleak reply.
Dearest Kali Yuga, Sovereign of the night-land marsh—
You open up my Heart Box, but the killings are so harsh.
Archangel and a purring Holy Flower—
Of his own children Saturn must devour.
Coffin dweller, Sat-urn-ine charmer—
Dig up the bones of the Divine Farmer.
Continue reading “Metal Heart (Alchemical Auto-Couplets) by Brad Baumgartner”
Burning House Press are excited to welcome YANINA SPIZZIRRI as our SEPTEMBER 2019 guest editor! As of today YANINA will take over editorship of Burning House Press online for the full month of SEPTEMBER.
Submissions are open from today – 1st SEPTEMBER and will remain open until 23RD SEPTEMBER.
YANINA’S theme/s for the month are as follows
Continue reading “SEPTEMBER 2019 Guest Editor Is YANINA SPIZZIRRI!!! Theme: ALTERED STATES”
VOICES EDITION AUGUST 2019 GUEST EDITED/CURATED BY JAMES KNIGHT
Continue reading “VOICES EDITION AUGUST 2019 GUEST EDITED/CURATED BY JAMES KNIGHT”
Tone wakes in the middle of the night. A breath breathing on his neck. At first he assumes it’s Flint’s fitful breath. He must’ve joined Tone in bed, stretched across the arc of his back, his snout behind his head, his nose close to his ear. A grumblevoice. A shifting of weight.
Bloody Media
2019
Collage
Traditional collage on paper using magazines and comics. Continue reading “Artwork by Disgruntled Beast”
August 30th, 2019
No More Names
If you would follow, after dark, him and
his friends into the park — a boy who likes
to call you names, then make lewd demands,
midnight games. Mother said, “He’s so polite,”
his slick blonde hair, and Dad’s old spice, shirt tucked Continue reading “Womannotated – No More Names”
Neighbourly
the prick next door
makes sweet plum wine
and is good for you
same old shit
is a guest
but we regret to advise
are just like home except
fine without
the European Union
Becalming induces tedium which Philocteta would alleviate with consumerism
BURNING HOUSE PRESS 