Monday, March 28, 2011

Writing from Frey, Wayne and Maziar


The second to last train stop overlooks a metal yard

A lot of people are eating

In the movie we're graceful, less monotonous

We're not bunched up against the present

The sign at the church says heaven's got an edge

I don't want my donut

There's that picture book about the steam shovel that keeps digging

Old-fashioned nostalgia for a machine that works

My zone opens

I'll keep several appointments with a gaping zone

Then lob my machines into the cold, swollen river

Emily Kendal Frey



sounds like we’re stopping a party along its glitter track

this transcriptionist is bird shaped

behind a door of neon-like light

a cabinet of speech

it’s my new dress

patterned as a beast might

the heat comes on, the roof is a reserve

we work our way into the archive

and the particular paper adheres

to a green glow, purple text with silver thread

I walk a small circumference

where the city starts to reopen

dry notes rain down with the cottonwood

Phoebe Wayne



Come where you can hear
the traffic light change
from lime to carmine
so small
disentangle me
fly me away
what you say
many moonlit times

Paul Maziar

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