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An international online magazine that publishes Neo-Surrealist poetry in English.


Issue One

  

LES WICKS



We Bonfire Babies


burn inexplicably bright (for our age).
Psychedelic relics, mashed upwords
plopswer words dint done
dance once beneath birdcall.
Authority was once the kernel of riot.

He looked up glucuphage
& was redirected to a site on how to seduce women & that
has to be difficult because
"seduce" isn't even a word nowadays.

omg honey butter grevilleas.
Crazy splendour & the Doors,
every welcome mat
those hands the raw
potencies of option though we just
wipe our feet        blind    deaf
Our fingers taught us nothing.

Heroes are the surgeons they take
our feet, we thereby lighten up.
From trudge to float,
evolve like saxophones.

Seniors' financial planning
jazzercise & computer skills.
Poor bloody Clarissa
is back on the tills –
at Costco. There's oil everywhere
we're rich, then reckless, then wrecked, exploded
living up the gritty ditty badge – boomer.





All about Accounting


Let's start with trade
& build an army, nothing
is too much when it comes to shadecloth.

At this time when everyone makes more sense than their leaders
time to double up the cheese platters
our party & the napalm napkins
enough was never enough.

Your feet leave the ground when you dance.

The argument was lost, didn't
exist really. Someone always offers
to bus you to your grave.

The sky is falling ... those habits of our hats.
It's spring, magpies know the scam.
Carry on. Carry. & Consume.
Our best hope is to save the world by indecision,
a strategy of slaves.

Nothing left to be done.
Failure is a sun.
The Committee never meets
& has executed its goals just right.






Crash #47


Looked up soul on eBay, it suggested
a skull goblet.

I've been waiting.
A criminal negligence is demanded by the verge.

The volunteer firefighters
intracranial,
are bored towards atrocity
minus a letter
brain is this rain. Ceaseless

that argument of bricks.
The gutted guitar, this world
is a washout. I bob along.






Les Wicks grew up in western suburbs of Sydney, Australia. He lived in Sydney and London, and was one of the founders of the Poets' Union in New South Wales. He has published thirteen poetry collections, the latest being Getting By Not Fitting In (Island Press, Australia, 2016). He won the Struga Poetry Award in Macedonia (2014).






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