Song For the Philopoets by Dan Hedges

The world has crowned you with the phrase

‘industrial unit’, and despite the economic

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surround, you strive to grow into

the term ‘philopoet’. In this struggle to

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

be free, you repeat the words to yourself,

“don’t let the intellect bully the heart.”>>>>>>>>

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It is clear that she has nurtured numbers,

and you have preferred imagination,

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

all this time, and will never regret it.

She will never appreciate that it takes bird

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

aesthetics to sanctify the light, though she

never noticed the light of her noticing to begin

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with. It is, after all,

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

the case, that we are using words to absorb

the severe angles of our sacrosanct madness,

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

not to mention our nether-space visions that

shuffle into the haunting tense.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

We are using words as nether-space conduits through

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

which we cause to fortify the god metaphor with

linguistic spells of lucid somethingness.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

We are mischief in the Nietzscharium, and

she is the reason for our semantic word harvest,

in the first place.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

‘She’ is the world, and ‘you’ are you.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Suddenly, the conundrum breaks into it’s

mathematical parts, causing stare-downs

with the Fibonacci entry points into

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

all abstract semantic buzz.  Instead of

closure, it all ends with urgency.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Dan Hedges is the editor of  HUMANIMALZ Literary Journal. His writing appears in The Monarch Review, The Apeiron Review, and more than ninety other journals.  He writes out of a small white house in rural Quebec.  He teaches English near Mont-Tremblant, Quebec, Canada.

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Semantic Rhinestones by Dan Hedges.

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Dan Hedges has been teaching English in private and public schools for the past ten years.
He is the editor of HUMANIMALZ Literary Journal. His poetry is published in over one hundred
online and print journals. He has been nominated for awards, including the Pushcart Prize.
His poetry embraces the topics of synchronicity, singularity, animal spirits, perennial philosophy,
lucid dreaming, shamanic journeying, bio-energetics, transpersonal psychology, mysticism, the
so-called avant garde, and field-guide aesthetics.

Brandon McLean (Peyote Poems Book)

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Very excited to announce that Brandon McLean, the amazing author of the recent book “Peyote Poems” will be joining us for Volume 4 of The 22! We are thrilled to have him and will be announcing all the stunning contributors at the end of this month! In the meantime you can pick up the full spectrum of his series in his recent release of the same name. His wonderful collage ability is something to behold. I suggest you pick up a copy now before they sell out!

VISIT HIS WEBSITE
BUY THE BOOK 

Continue reading

Dan Hedges #80.

{assorted plots

dispersed irregularly across

generalized narrative suspense

lead to uncanny sensations that

humans are a fixed point}

 

Dan Hedges is the editor of  HUMANIMALZ Literary Journal. His writing appears in The Monarch Review, The Apeiron Review, and more than ninety other journals.  He writes out of a small white house in rural Quebec.  He teaches English near Mont-Tremblant, Quebec, Canada.

Freshwater

by Nadra Mabrouk

You wanted to use a caterpillar as fish bait.
The soft fuzz of its pinky-long body
squirmed as though in slow motion
and you, not able to cut into its mouth, shivering,
threw it back in the grass.

And I thought we could take this bike anywhere –
Instead, we stop,
lay it on the ground near my chalky ankles.

a half naked woman’s shoulders near us, tanner than us — she is a bear:
waiting for the small gloves of fish
to tug, then grabbing them off the hook with large fingers
and swollen palms
as though her growth depended on them.

And what does our growth depend upon?
Exoskeleton? Thin needles inside fish?
The sturdiness of understanding the variations of the skeletal system?

I turn to prickling hairs on your thin-skinned elbow
and rub my cheek against your ribs.
You place your fingers on the sinking earth of my face
as though tracing hunger on the cheekbone
as the woman limps away.

She leaves with a basket of fresh bodies.
Something to slice open, squeeze lemon on,
cradle in your mouth and feel whole.

In a thought made of silk,
I am cutting softened peaches into puddles of vanilla,
a dessert, after salting the center of a cut salmon:
pink tongues on a refrigerated platter.

After we eat – a marinated silence
and hands, smelling of the river,
something swift to salvage us.

But instead,
You fill your hands with the grainy metal of the handlebars
and walk ahead of me,
footsteps slow and dry in the heat.



Nadra Mabrouk was born in Cairo, Egypt where she spent only five years. She has ripped memories of the country. Her family has since moved from one apartment to the other so she is familiar with different pieces of Miami yet does not know what it is like to mark your height as you grow in an old house to compare to your siblings. She wrote two poems in fifth grade and then picked poetry up again in ninth grade. Since then, she’s known this may the definition of concrete. Sometimes, she will have a swollen eye and takes a cyproheptadine pill to block the allergic reaction. But the side effects are brutal and any loud noise makes her feel as though the insides of her body are vibrating. This is why the world should be quiet and listen to the soft jazz of the air. She is a junior in Florida International University studying English and working with the University newspaper, The Beacon, as a managing editor and reads poetry submissions for Gulf Stream, the University’s literary magazine.

 

Change of Season.

By Owen Piper

It’s times like this,
I think we are changing like the season.

Salt, pepper,
that strange spice you found near 82nd.

What, was, that?

I’m yellowed as paper for the phone.

I think I should call you.

I don’t.

Every few seconds the wind takes hold of my time,
stirs it all clean again.

Owen Piper is an artist and writer currently living in Paris. He works a day job and writes when he is not doing that.

The Graveyard of Forgotten Things.

By Rena Rossner

It’s a minefield of regret
strewn with corpses of thought
a place where time
gathers in the hollows
and tattered curtains hang
in neglected corridors
the leprosy of cracked wallpaper
afflicts the mind

rusted slides
mildewed rollercoasters
dusty schooldesks
a piano with a broken leg
the loneliness of a smashed vanity mirror

it rains in eaves of light
downpours in the stairwells
derelict inner doors to the sanctum
rot unhinged

beauty in decay
a momento mori of matter
I mourn myself

Rena Rossner lives in Jerusalem and studied writing at Johns Hopkins University and McGill University. She is currently a literary and foreign rights agent. Her work deals with the place where Jewish themes meet magical realism, mysticism and sex. You can see more of her work at www.renarossner.com

The Wind that Flattens the Flames.

by Joshua Bocher

“All have one breath”
-Ecclesiastes

“They fade like fall and winter”
-Zhuangzi

I.

Go
To a place
Where the wind
Whirls about and
Returns
Again

I’ll stay behind
Carving and polishing
My words

Say no more
About it

II.

One
Who wants for nothing
Whose life was spent
As a shadow

Doesn’t wish
To hear
The rebukes
Of the wise,
Only the songs
Of fools

III.

The man fell
He tosses and trembles
On the cold ground
As death draws near him

His disposition once fiercer
Than a lion’s,
The crumbled grass
Beneath him
Keeps growing
Still

IV.

After sweet sleep
Roaming
The infinite,

With a start
I will wake,

Feeling great glee
In the return
To plainness

Joshua Bocher is a graduate student at Harvard University, where he researchs Chinese poetry.  Before attending graduate school, he lived in Taiwan for over two and a half years.  His poems and translations have been published or are forthcoming in several journals, including SpinozablueIlluminationsFull of Crow PoetryThe Brown Literary Review, and Issues.