without further ado, d5 chapbook ii

8/14/2019 without further ado, D5 Chapbook II

1/19

without further ado, D5 Chapbook II

RUELA PINHO

We are not allowed to leave the compound, so class field trips tend to be localized; for instance,this week we visited the bathroom. As each stall offers homage to a different deity, the studentswere segregated and left to autonomous explorations of the toilet, which is also a well, so withstring spun from fine-knotted hair and hooks built from braces each team went sewer fishing

while Annabelle and I read letters from the home office written backwards in the mirror. Thewalls decorated with dyes squeezed from hand soap and urinal blocks and flags flown from toiletpaper, soon enough each stall became its own nation, and the flourishing of under-divider com-merce taught truer lessons than any of the gibberish textbooks the temporary government sendsus in dump trucks every other Monday. I felt a sense of purpose swelling as the miniature cretinslearned to haggle and barter, and I told Annabelle we should never return to the learning center,we should spend the remainder of the semester in our bathroom classroom, but she was pleasur-ing herself with the hand dryer and paid me no mind. DB.


2/19

MURMURISTS

how do you wash your hands before Genocide?in a sense. the same way you wash them before god.in the rain. as you ride the wings of insanity. as youfold the wings of insanity. are you not as religious?painting dreams. is your song not as filled with hopedespair and the grasping of general confusion. asyou confront the future. this is what i hear.

but to find only part one of a song. but in a songthat is everything.

likebirthinglightin astring of water. JASE


3/19

LAZARE

..a hologram aching with adoration and a vague hope of recovering fifteen billion sweaty balladsfrom the colour of opium. one could blast off into theoretical nights, or freely choose to squanderthe new Eve on remixed whorls of metaphor. the scarab's initial relation to superior fingers, itwas all a harbinger of the sweet, unresolved fifth that augmented gravity, the codes revealed byyour bare shoulder minus the lattice of smiling numbers. I ran through the flickering conspiracy,baritone impulses splashing at my exposed knees and thighs. the logic of evisceration drankprophecies from the fluourescent green foliage, a satellite was given enough answers to question.

on the cusp of a digitized sunrise with blank eyes and a frightening message from the automatic,I mourned what was ironic in you, the equations that drifted without purpose yet were capable ofdividing the bluest sky into the syntax of my upturned palms. ROBERT CHRYSLER


4/19

I fell down this hole in a spiral of mewling cats.A cacophony of stars, blinking, blind and brilliantThat spun a druid curse of vapour trail cloud.Violence dressed in flowers.My marvels unhinged as one, a desire of kitchen utensils that passed the hair lip stair trip flashand crash of metal objects. Of tin and bronze, chrome and steel. Boxes of charnel ruin thatscooped debris on the hoof. The passengers of lost fell upon the glade day as fresh parts in a badleg hovel.Scattergun and furious they toast the limp horn crust with saliva from a mule. Its television eyeswitch from frequency patter can to the high minded ethos of advert.

For on and on galvanise the frontiers of lose chain that assemble like rich tramps in a poor mansHarrods, that fester full broth and crme fresh, tampon satin snivelling groin lust. Her hard hatwears a thin cord to strangle the cries of the amorous and mad. Insane laughter like the beseech-ing of Grace Poole whose madness silver smith picked the locked sanity of the barman generalwhilst his foot sore foot soldiers grieved their aching web feet like the scrotum of malachite.A fistful of time floating down a mist of memory while tied to the harbinger of puddle rack andguilt. CJ DUFFY


5/19

CHM

Burp, what else I winked files,jigged joy on bun loops,Pit Toe for bandit.

I door,non juice if I was a horse house,rigor joy was on a nixed nose,

Butterfly hissed bell wind;quote box unisonwas the sun due a big gig?door of keywe were difficult cumour self dusk sat.Old JFK emulationwe role clayware; ear the way. AARON HELD


6/19

INCONSEQUENTIAL

UNDRESS BETON


7/19

it's just this perpetual whining in the ears, a common drone that appears to exude from that cabi-net in which the head of the last landlord is stored. despite my insatiable cleaning habits, thestain proceeded to seep and discolor the lace hanky that took me years to complete, being wovenfrom the garments of mine enemies that befell sudden deaths. the persnickety stain threatens thepile of furbelow embellished petticoats that i carefully crafted from the skins of discarded chil-

dren. (it's hard to convince grieving women to hand over remnants ) but there it is, shining in thesunlight and cradling that pesky box. this sound of ochre afternoons soiled now and that obfus-cating damn noise that will not stop despite my valiant efforts at self treppaning.

DORIANDRA

JASE


8/19

scarred trunks waver, glottal. soft spoors, dew-starred, unfurl in the still. the stolid barrows fal-low silent. the breathsroil

across the fibrous stalks of fungus-furred moors. that were once of oldgrowthscar left of old; the trunks gasp hardstop. chitinfeet drum soft belts of tracks; the web-vomit upsilk grappling hooks to drawthe hornshells lapse to soil. the cornhusk poppet drools her saccharine sap upon the scars

thunder rushes insubstantial tides againstthe great lead sheet earth sleeps

beneath the stolid barrows fallow silent. the cornhusk scrapes the sap. wolf cubs and old crowscircle closed with magnetic amber eyes, drawing the bloodsap back to earth. they accrue, metas-tasize, rippling fur and bloodsquirm

the soils peristaltic shudder looses mewls and ululations from starvelings on the prowl. the pop-pet draws her silk across the dully shining scar. the lesions shiver loose and the tree begins tofledge. now the scar begins again to feel the breaths JOHN MOORE WILLIAMS

ELLIOT WISDOM


9/19

TIC TAC

Delivered into an heightened state / a mantra repeating / naked trees in mud / opaque sky / skinnylimbed / starved / pale / ribs rush under skin / corrugated / broken now / a buttock apron / anus /he lies animated / her blade slides under the skin / makes a cut as though passing through tautplastic / things shiny and wet spill out / I separate from myself and feel that sensation in my head/ not quite right / she is naked and daubed / and painted in mud / I imagine a chair for her to sit in/ it is wooden / bare / worn and hard / planted in the mud of the field / bad thunk lifts off my head/ I lay it in her lap / feel her fur on the back of my neck / looking up at myself sightless // myheightened self collapses in the HMV / I follow a lost opportunity and balk at a chance / slum-bering into ennui / into petite historical routs and a retrieval of instances / puking into an ill-formed beard / carrying a broken bike Id fucked into the curb / where rats run and her hair isscraped back / powerful and tarnished / conjuring spittle in her mouth / witch baptism / I havename and wash in shiny and wet things / and reattach to something of me / seeing stars twinklealong the membranes of a hollowed torso / echoes / a voice limbers within the container / andfrom behind / and from her mouth / summons me to lay down within / to curl up / to be sewn intomy old form D.ROOD


10/19

UNDRESS BETON

there are dirty stains upon the sheets

and dead flowers on the floorthere is a king upon a godly throne

and lions in his den

there are dragonflys with wide wing spans

and horses that are lame

there are men and some are equal

while others just pretend

there is a song that froze upon the lips

of an aged irish maid

but she wrote down all the words for me

and they are with me till this day.

i haven't seen the marbled stairsnor ate the fruits of gods

but i am just another man

and fuck all those who say i am not

so be wary all you little snots

when you consort with me

remember who the hell i am

and curse me silently. CJ DUFFY


11/19

INCONSEQUENTIAL

I asked her why she thought it was going to happen again, and she said if something happensonce it's a miracle, but if it happens twice it's an everyday occurrence, and since she didn't be-lieve in miracles it *had* to happen again. That's what the Enlightenment gets you. DB


12/19

CACHORRO RABUGENTO MORTO EM NOITE CHUVOSA

I AM NOT KEK-W


13/19

CARMEN RACOVITZA

Imagine starting a car. ok, nowturning on the windshield wipers: Two serpentswilding| You drive out + absorb the city; You are faceless

nameless: The perfect criminal: The enemy. A doctor. Handssnatching at your thoughts. Sirens; Solid steel rope being draggedon the pavement - more agile: Frequencies...Microwave, radio,mobile create an umbrella of prophecy:) A black boyruns into the middle of the road, barley avoidingNooses and stands over his dead mother: It's her fault,you are embarressed. Now your mind is empty. Mercuryrain. The supermarket rots:) The neon light [is] swollen,Everywhere clairvoyance: The [black] boy is whispering tohis mother, 'wake up'. Cars are crashing into him buthe is not dying) each time they hit him is like

jackpot at a slot machine. Silver coins magnetic toher corpse: An inconvienient grave: You get out your carand forget how to walk. Who you are, where you are,what coffee tastes like. You lay there: In the heavenof your amnesia: chased by colours further into yourmind where you don't know what any of them mean;newspapers are shrieking. A woman covers her ears.It is raining mercury + grass is growing around the silver coins,


14/19

through the concrete. A guy is checking his watch; startschocking: suddenly you can walk again and theground shakes.*The boy is turning the city into a forest filled with so many dead thingsso many numbers and addresses - inside his mother's heart it is a pantheon

a dragon is asleep, dirty in both your ears. You are throwing up- no oneeveryone. Everyone knows your name, knows you are on the way to seeyour mother this makes you smile: Chased by a paradigm of 5 minutesago you make your way to the boy and his mother, stronger than ever.You are chasing the city. Naming things: Remembering ciggarettes.One thousand facist arms,Syncronized: ChoreographedMurder) The boy is completlyBlack.And more the texture of glass. You are filled with so much with compassionyou betray your every step - People speak to you, everyone you know

now they are hiding from the rain: confused in the forest, at homein the city. Still in their suits. Your car is dead. You realized youdown have anything that is alive: The boy starts speaking. The cityhas seen enough. You are back on the floor, the time you forgot how towalk. You couldn't make your mind up and rolled onto your front. Yousaw it all. Now you are ready to dance.In your car, you start the engine and drive[out] to where you saw the black boy run [into] the road. Just parkacross the street. He is shy. A lady in a uniform is banging on yourwindow telling you to move your car: It's still raining, she is showingyou a serpent. Sharpening it: Your tooth nearly falls out: You open the

door for the boy to jump in)) You tell him his mother can:// still makeit: now there are three ladies, one of them chases a boydoing graffitti. One of them is getting ready to hammer a nailinto your window so you drive forward.the sky is a floodand the month isa permenant blue-gray.A bag of coal costs$270.

You start watering a cigarette but in the middle of an argument.

nothing happens: It catches fire: A small puddle of fire...A small rose of fire. You take it home JASE


15/19

DODO SPIESSERT

JUNIOR


16/19


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18/19

RUELA PINHO


19/19

without further ado, d5 chapbook ii

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