1.
Stone is tone sat, shone sibboleth, antic serve antique
observe quiescence essence deliquescence whence
as just majesty or jest, Rome. Adjust fallen sigh stupor
brain aspic apical outward placid not much. Acid
esteem unsated teeming, for that although also, can
vain humane vanity admired humanity mired option
self enraged and assuage, turn. Bound unto found
object object prime self lowered mind loured petite.
Alms of psalm, sole incarnadine, hoary before turn
whore not then prey custom, give. Penitent pen it
in prayer custom unsaid repent end to end, soul.
Wretched ashen etched in deceit do, dawn stir fall
rare jewel out impending whom, who; fault line twine
twin fault win turn in time or afterthought fit flee.
2.
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3.
Quim, ass, seed—open! So-so inquest, O, sass! O!
Idyll antic car, O Maat! Err! A mere O.
Llamaest, a cad. Hoot. (& he’s sus.) Peer, O!
Ape wrestled a stupor. None, mofo. I’ll pass. O,
none sat Z, O deepen czar-anchor. Kayla’s so.
Lovin’ it. Ah! Delu, man. Fast! Tome mirror.
Idyll me, O van, edging me. Cum! Ah, dear!—O!
A purely-meant, a villagette, a bus—O!
All maudy, prick, I miss ’im. Be! Ankh? Eel? Cree? Nay.
Ski? Evil costume? Dick? Whey? Casey? Dan?—O!
Imp-ray? Dolls? Sense? O, perp & tears. Seal? Fee? Nay.
Me sir! O, key! Trouble Cain. Tallin gone, no?
Ra? Dough? Eh? Kettle more eerie. Insult confit. Nay.
See raw Vega, deaf alley—foo! Golden, no?
4.
lexicon = [ ‘abbasso’, ‘adiro’, ‘alma’, ‘al’, ‘ammiro’, ‘ancorché’, ‘antica’, ‘assido’, ‘a’, ‘caduta’, ‘che’, ‘chi’, ‘confine’, ‘costume’, ‘crine’, ‘danno’, ‘danno’, ‘da’, ‘deh’, ‘dell’’, ‘del’, ‘de’’, ‘di’, ‘e’, ‘è’, ‘falli’, ‘fasto’, ‘fine’, ‘fugga’, ‘il’, ‘imbianchi’, ‘inganno’, ‘in’, ‘lasso’, ‘la’, ‘maestà’, ‘meco’, ‘mente’, ‘mio’, ‘miro’, ‘misero’, ‘mi’, ‘morire’, ‘muovo’, ‘m’’, ‘ne’, ‘non’, ‘oggetto’, ‘passo’, ‘pensar’, ‘pensoso’, ‘pentirsi’, ‘per’, ‘preda’, ‘preso’, ‘pria’, ‘pur’, ‘quei’, ‘questo’, ‘qui’, ‘rado’, ‘ravvegga’, ‘roma’, ‘sasso’, ‘sazio’, ‘schiva’, ‘senso’, ‘si’, ‘sospiro’, ‘stupor’, ‘sul’, ‘s’’, ‘tal’, ‘terra’, ‘trabocca’, ‘uman’, ‘vaneggiar’, ‘vanità’, ‘vil’ ]
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5.
All pensive on this rock I sit
and watch an empire gone to shit—
cracked columns, bricks & broken blocks,
like cat turds in a litterbox.
My weary mind can only see
the pomp of human vanity,
and though I find it rather crass,
I too’m a vain and pompous ass.
I beg you, soul—it’s getting late—
do not be like the profligate,
whose life on worldly pleasure’s spent,
deferring when he should repent,
for when death’s door such blind men gain
they rarely rue and flee the pain.
6.
From: Satya Nadella
Sent: Tuesday, July 03, 2024 5:33 AM
To: Microsoft – All Employees; All MS Store Employees FTE
Subject: Reflection on the Impermanence of Success
Team,
I find myself contemplating the fleeting nature of worldly pursuits. While we strive for success and recognition, it is important to remember that these achievements are ultimately transient. History is replete with examples of empires that have crumbled, leaving behind only remnants of their former glory.
The pursuit of material wealth and fleeting pleasures can often distract us from what truly matters. It is essential to cultivate a sense of perspective and to prioritize enduring values over ephemeral ones.
As we navigate the complexities of life, let us strive to live with purpose and meaning. May we find solace in the pursuit of knowledge, compassion, and the betterment of ourselves and our communities.
Sincerely,
Satya
7.
Escape the Flames: Your Roman Sanctuary Awaits
Imagine yourself, seated upon a stone terrace, overlooking the timeless beauty of Rome. The ancient city unfolds before you, a tapestry of history woven into the very fabric of the earth. Lost in thought, you witness the ruins of Rome, her fallen majesty, and linger in a stupor most profound. But this is no melancholic reverie. This is the beginning of your new life, a life free from the pomp of human vanity and the beguiling claims of the mundane.
Here, in our exclusive condominium, you can finally shun the ways of the man who only aims at worldly bliss. Repenting on death’s day is a fate you can avoid. Come, my soul, before your hair turns grey, and embrace a life of tranquility and sophistication.
Our meticulously restored residences offer a haven of peace and luxury, nestled amidst the heart of Rome’s vibrant history. Rare it is, when held in death’s fell sway, to see one's own mistake, and flee the flames. But here, you can escape the flames of worldly distractions and embrace the true treasures of life.
Don’t let your dreams run aground on base things. Come, discover your own Roman sanctuary. Contact us today to learn more about our exclusive condominium offerings.
Eric T Racher lives in Riga, Latvia. His poetry, essays and fiction
translated from the german by Ann Cotten & Anna-Isabella Dinwoodie
*
first true story (from “three true stories”)
the fence is a window and the window is a room and the room is a table and the table is a speck and the speck is a girl and the girl is a knife and the knife is a clock and the clock is a letter and the letter is a neighbor and the neighbor is a flowerbed and the flowerbed is a city and the city is a street and the street is a friend and the friend is a summer’s day and the summer’s day is a hill and the hill is a field and the field is a tower and the tower is a woman and the woman is a wave and the wave is glasses and the glasses are an evening and the evening is a tree and the tree is a mound and the mound is a key and the key is a coin and the coin is a sheet of ice and the sheet of ice is a hole and the hole is a bridge and the bridge is a pillar and the pillar is a look and the look is a colleague and the colleague is a stick and the stick is a mountain and the mountain is a journey and the journey is a cafe and the cafe is a camp and the camp is a wolfhound and the wolfhound is a grate and the grate is an abyss and the abyss is a toilet and the toilet is a school
*
great authorizations
you may be expected to
you may be able to
you may be required to
you may be allowed to
you may be expected to be expected to
you may be able to be expected to
you may be required to be expected to
you may be allowed to be expected to
you may be expected to be able to
you may be able to be able to
you may be required to be able to
you may be allowed to be able to
you may be expected to be required to
you may be able to be required to
you may be required to be required to
you may be allowed to be required to
you may be expected to be allowed to
you may be able to be allowed to
you may be required to be allowed to
you may be allowed to be allowed to
you may be expected to be expected to be expected to
you may be able to be able to be expected to
you may be required to be required to be expected to
you may be allowed to be allowed to be expected to
you may be expected to be expected to be able to
you may be able to be able to be able to
you may be required to be required to be able to
you may be allowed to be allowed to be able to
you may be expected to be expected to be required to
you may be able to be able to be required to
you may be required to be required to be required to
you may be allowed to be allowed to be required to
you may be expected to be expected to be allowed to
you may be able to be able to be allowed to
you may be required to be required to be allowed to
you may be allowed to be allowed to be allowed to
From Good & Safe, published by World Poetry Books, 2025.
Liesl Ujvary (1939) is an Austrian writer in the concrete tradition.
Her oeuvre includes experimental electronic music & video
Good & Safe (Sicher & Gut), her debut, was originally published in 1977 /
Ann Cotten is a writer & translator from Vienna, Austria.
Translations from English to German include books by Isabel Waidner,
Legacy Russell, Rosmarie Waldrop & others /
Anna-Isabella Dinwoodie is a translator & writer
who makes visual poetry & performance art. She lives in Berlin.
The Buried Museums
Holy Grail, hollowed bone, half buried in the dirt. Above the
Brow God is moving his furniture, wardrobes of thunderclouds,
heavy driving migraines into your skull
Within these hills there are buried museums. Gleaners,
looters, archaeologists scrape the dust, sift for clues. When
the rain comes flashfloods will turn this dirt to mud,
exposing doll’s prams, tin bathtubs, a mangled accordion wheezing
Boy on a stolen moped dragging it uphill towards the church
cowboy swagger
I sit by the shrine of plastic flowers rolling a joint with
shaking fingers. A cracked Now That’s What I Call Music CD
hangs from a tree, a fetish token for the homeless woman
winter-death, grief-moon
Dig into the dirt with the heel of my boot remembering the Dog
King. Somewhere down there in an old tin can are his tethering
ropes, latch keys, can-opener, flick knife cassettes of mad
muttering, dog-howl
In buried museums beneath these hills, your memories, earth-
weighted mad saint’s bone relics, nightmare archive.
Jeff Young is a Liverpool based writer for radio, theatre
& screen. His memoir ‘Ghost Town’ was shortlisted for the Costa
Prize and his second memoir, ‘Wild Twin’, tells of his years
hitching around Europe & living in Amsterdam squats.
Poet, performer, visual artist & broadcaster, collaborator
with artists & musicians, he is currently writing ‘Lucid Dreamer’,
an alternative history of Liverpool counterculture.
Bluesky http://@wildtwin.bsky.social
Burning House Press are excited to welcome M. FORAJTER as the second BHP guest editor of our return series of special editions! As of today M. will take over editorship of Burning House Press online for the month of JULY.
Submissions are open from today – and will remain open until 25TH JULY.
M.’s theme for the month is as follows
—ART & ANNIHILATION: contemporary gothic writing in the Anthropocene—

ART & ANNIHILATION: contemporary gothic writing in the Anthropocene
“The energy of the poem penetrates and re-penetrates the rotting native land with ghosts, junk, corpses, skin, denigrating terms, and denigrated materials in order to engender a counternativity, an occult rebirth as ghostly reanimation. In this way the poet incestually forces his own rebirth, not as a liberated man but as a kind of infernal, spectral double, a production of the text: “And behold here I am!” -Joyelle McSweeney, The Necropastoral: Poetry, Media, Occults
BRAND NEW CHERRY FLAVOR! + microplastics + dandelion + flawed pearl + fruit punch + The Relic + baroque + “when does a meadow stop being a meadow” + jackalope + bowl of teeth + i am sad, so sad + a ceaseless keening + still skeptical + lilac + Lizzie Borden took an axe + Joan of Arc : : Gilles De Rais + “search at the dump concluded today with” + tiger pelts + je me lance + the biologist + dense + decadent + nonpotable + “ob-scene[…] their filthy beauty” + disposable + “the pastoral, like the occult, has always been a fraud” + heavy water + contamination readouts + bonsai tree + shotgun + “no conclusive evidence of substantial impact on wildlife” + wild boar + many wolves + pine + “life finds a way!” + slight asymmetric measurements + “don’t drink milk or eat tomatoes” + MELODY, GLOUCESTER + sunflower remediation + fortitude + end of the world + gross body + ecological anxiety + HUMANS, HUMANS, HUMANS.
Contemporary ecological concerns are often countered with talk about environmental justice. What does justice mean to a corpse? I’ve read too many books where hapless environmentalist do-gooders try to sell me the silver lining in mass extinction and planetary collapse. Some people are very excited about the possibilities in fungus. Some people are vegetarians. Some people make art. Autoerotic asphyxiation takes many forms.
Send me decadent poetry peddling vegetal, venial filth; fiction that is more sensation than sense; writing with mutated romantic hearts; visual art both florid and tortured. Send me your most purple perfume reviews & pimple pops, your psycho killer love letters, your apocalypse day planner. Tell me what credit cards you ate for lunch yesterday; your most recent sperm count. I want a lush gothic novel written by a half-imploded billionaire at the bottom of the sea; I want Melancholia & Flannery O’Connor & Lara Glenum & Only Lovers Left Alive.
Good luck.
____________

M. Forajter is the author of Interrogating the Eye (Schism Neurotics, 2022), a poetry-essay on the poetics of looking/the gaze and the ecstasy of art making. Her work focuses on experimental poetics, the gothic, and the effects of the Anthropocene on non-human ecology. She really likes Nirvana, werewolves, and medieval art.
__________
Submission Guidelines
All submissions should be sent as attachments to guesteditorbhp@gmail.com
Please state the theme and form of your submission in the subject of the email. For example: ART & ANNIHILATION/POETRY
Poetry and Fiction
For poetry submissions, submit no more than three of your best poems. Short stories should be limited to 1,500 words or (preferably) less. We encourage flash fiction submissions, no more than three at a time. Send these in as a .doc or .docx file, along with a short third-person bio, and (optional) photograph of yourself.
Art
Submit hi-res images of your works (drawings, paintings, illustrations, collages, photography, etc) with descriptions of the work (Title, Year, Medium, etc) in the body of the email. Files should be in .JPEG unless they are GIFs or videos, and should not exceed 2MB in size for each work. File names should correspond with the work titles. Video submissions can be uploaded onto Youtube or Vimeo for feature on our website. Send these submissions along with a short third-person bio, and (optional) photograph of yourself.
Virtual Reality/ 3D Artworks
For VR Submissions, please submit no more than three (3) individual artworks. For Tilt Brush works, please upload your artwork to Google Poly (https://poly.google.com/), and mark it as ‘public’ (‘remixable’ is at your own preference). A VR/3D artwork can also be submitted as a video export navigating through the artwork. If you prefer this method, please upload your finished video file to YouTube or Vimeo and provide a URL. With either format, please provide a 150 word artist’s statement.
Non-fiction
Non-fiction submissions (essays, reviews, commentary, interviews, etc) should be no more than 1, 500 words and sent as a .doc or .docx file along with your third-person bio/and optional photograph.
Submissions are open until 25th JULY – and will reopen again on 1st AUGUST 2025/for new theme/new editor/s.
BHP online is now in the capable hands of the amazing M. FORAJTER– friends, arsonistas, send our JULY 2025 guest editor your magic!
January 30th, 2021
And Thou Shalt Judge The Expiring Soccer Mom
after Servant, Season Two, Episode Three, Pizza
Surveil from silk sheets your mortal estate.
On suburban streets, death, afterlife vie
behind grandiose gates. Above play dates,
teammates, cheese pizza parties, skeletonize
with the greatest of ease. Caretakers doze
in proximate chairs. Delicate wraith
tiptoes upstairs in prim servant’s clothes
with bowls of puréed sustenance. Your faith
remakes a cadaverous countenance,
nasal cannula dispensable soon.
Expiring soccer mom circumstances
avoidable if you only commune
with a macilent maiden magistrate.
Worthiness for rebirth, she calculates.
















