Garrett Brunker

Response

A FEW AT HARRINGTONS

Tyson West

I could never count

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The number of times my old lady
Threw me out of the house
Let alone ever pull
A passing grade in algebra
But somehow someway I intuitively grasp that sweet spot
The pi of harmony
That rolls into the ouroborus of ideas
The point at which the transcendental 3.14159 etc. beers with the boys
Slides up the mucoidal parabola to The Meaning –
That mirror ball whose circumference
We are so close to computing
I mean we are right there
At the confluence of magic words
That define, refine, and reorder
The irrationality of birth and love and death
In the sweet bitter bubbles of malty froth
Captured in tendrils of blue smoke.
When suddenly we fall off that flickering point
With Sal on the floor
And the nagging something
The narrow fellow in the grass
In neaderthal nearness to
The great white whale.
You know the something in the nothing
The drool of salvation
That lurks around the can
Then into the window
We opened to let out the smell of Luckies and Coors and garlic
No matter how hard we try to sharpen
The horns of the bull
Another random number
Falls into place
So much so that the falling itself
Gets eternally closer but never nearer
To alter the constant growing ever longer
But staying the same.
May, 2014

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Rusty Lynn

Response

ORIGINAL SIN SIGNALS

Tyson West

If Jesus was god and knew everything
Then why didn’t he tell us some parable
About cosmic background radiation
Left over from the Big Bang.
Even if he didn’t want to scare the crap out of Peter
And his disciples
Or lose Paul on the road to Damascus
He could have at least told Joseph Smith (who wasn’t scared of anything) and
Who could have translated it into the book of Mormon
After all, it is way more interesting
Than genealogical recitations of patriarchs and sinners
With funny names and opaque character development.
In all those years since Marconi learned
How to play catch with radio waves
And my mom and dad as kids listened
On the floor next to the cathedral wooden radio’s glowing dial
To Jack Benny and Rochester
Lucky Strike Greens and Franklin Roosevelt talk about fear itself and all the Great Depression stuff
Like bread lines
And the lead up to the D Day
And if you didn’t get the dial tuned in tight
And sometimes even when you did
Voices would pop and sputter
And the big swing band sounded like cooking French fries
And Baby Snooks like Dracula—they had no clue.
It wasn’t some prophet or preacher
But a couple of nerd professors in 1964
Who built this radio telescope and who figured that belches and farts and globs of sliding noise on the radio
Were echoes left over from the old God’s suicide vest going off
Saying goodbye to his singularity
To create a new God out of dust and ash
And sounds of the explosion spread out and reverberated
Kind of like original sin only cooler because it was signaling
Before we had souls sins could stick to
For the waters of baptism to wash off.
March, 2012

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Rusty Lynn

Inspiration Piece

TIC TAC TOE

Tyson West

Inspiration Piece

I.
Introit
Tic

The naked Sculptress
Uses your hands to gather
Trash for her collage
Infects your syght to secret
Her touch and tone in your pryde

II
Tac

Seem as we did
When we tried happy
Lassoing geometries around each other
My angular adventuring boxed in your sinuous lines
Oh, we shaded smokey sunsets to fragile magentas
Amid the talk radio rational of a world banking into the final whimper
Of its carnival ride
We shook off the great wooden trestled trail of screams curving into
The ceaseless deliberations of clairvoyants in proud silicone towers
That twelve twelve twelve is twice six six six
And a mulatto emperor has got to count for something.

So my Sweetie, with your dominant eye and fine filed face
We schlepped our affections up the graph of easy credit and liar loans
Not realizing all along our dream home mortgage amortized sub prime
As long as we fight foreclosure
Our love has not been written off.
  
Let us swirl into the dirty whirlpool of up side downers
Drifting in their slithering currents
Full of organisms that eat to kill
As angry eyes sketch straight sight
And unparallel waves compress molecules of oxygen find a direct path
Remember that the submissive always controls
Dominance cannot dream without the lullaby of pain.

 
III
Envoi
Toe

Save for the doodles of apes wearing clothes
Our Mother’s nature sketches no straight line
The fitful order in her drawing shows
Save for the jottings of apes in fine clothes
On thin red lines where their true fiber flows
A tigress stalks in curves to break the spine
Save for the comfort of apes crafting clothes
Her truer vision tortures no straight line.
September, 2012

NOTE:  All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it.  Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is striclty prohibited.