Poetry, 6″ X 8″, 44 pages
Limited, numbered edition of 100 copies
excerpts from Installation :
EVERY 26th WORD
(originally published in New American Writing)
rejects prose fully, the series seduction, neither interesting nor up on references: “men” smokes, reflecting fight to integrities; finally many have shot movement until to wayward they’re moving, knowing not some such ankle but night roots; pompous and tempestuous like “He” “its” say thrive, for meaning wouldn’t linearly just evil; that years could, for and of romantic people.
The room, just from, hits two, a weight they still have not; for them, only a mattress trough, so the photo bird is best, whether or not it thinks facts; the issue runs up in the street; siblings shift the character; and of the
waterways ruptured ________ and arboretum tinged ________ safely buried.
(originally published in Bone Bouquet)
getting up from the story goes on and on. allergic to staying away—Almanac of the Dead / Das Kapital—to the mall to finish headaches alone. very life-affirming. later, sparrows, linden trees and the mountain beyond grivoise: licentious self-absorption. hike uphill. stagger into a circus theme. excitement in the spotlight. French comedy? thriller w/ Hitchcock references? mood more caustic. coastal valley overlooking a profusion of tar weed. consider a shorter stride when feet tire. switch to “waking” on the floor. taste, then buy. many become fleuristes. seek out bouquets to put themselves. move on to the meal. the mix of generations. 50 years of photos wear the earrings. weather improves. party continues. 65# of books arrive. frazzled from the traffic. good works for lunch—still hungry after. President in Jurata on the Baltic Sea. quest for souvenirs without magnets. strawberries cheaper but won’t last. view the appearance of the mechanical goats all looking up at the same time. according to the pedometer—14,276 steps. reed-clogged shoreline. but the room is fine. turn down from the centrum to settle there. find dark beer. undamaged in WWII. homage to works on paper considered. coolish.
from GRAMMAR LESSONS
(Originally published in Avatar Review)
In a declarative sentence much can come in between:
He had no formal training; aluminum and copper gave him a shudder.
Then one day he stumbled into some driftwood. The next thing he knew he
owned 3 pianos. No longer having to illuminate anything, he experienced
a sense of freedom. He said, “Movement in the exhaust pipes created
this.” She had 10 pallets of metal, each shoulder-high. She always
started with realism, then went abstract, because she fancied herself the
narrative that would adhere. She said, “I was an athlete once.” They both
were dictated to by their materials; not driven nuts, but driven to do
something. Crushed mother-of-pearl, star ruby, sandalwood and camphor
were nothing but art supplies to them.
A misplaced modifier functions as an affirmation or negation:
He nicknamed her Plover, not long ago; she recorded animal oddities as
they passed her by on the loop. At present, she prefers to be known as
Homemaker. Now seminally at home, she answers her Hot Line. And
when he asks politely, she migrates up his torso.
Adverbs can be detected through the senses:
After his departure, she folds anonymously back into the white crowd.
When they wipe off her face, she wails nakedly. She doesn’t see the
magnet. Historically, the scene has been set. It’s a farce in which no one
questions the decency. For to eavesdrop is to latch.
Paula Koneazny is the author of two previous chapbooks: The Year I Was Alive from dpress and Vernacular from Todd Melicker’s micro-press eyesparrow editions. She is an assistant editor of Volt: A Magazine of the Arts.