An international online magazine that publishes Surrealist poetry in English.
Sleep with us on the hill, with racquets. Scatter gossip macadamias;
absorb the specialist the arpeggio the bags of zzz. With baggy eyes
a branch without soap, let arms grow in a wheelbarrow. Usually
for the pit of drawers, it's not quite a pond. Obviously the
flashes you see those potatoes are purple
in their blondeness; I've never worn lycra
I won't start now. I'll start fizzing like a broken speaker,
which isn't often, but know anything can happen
Wandering like she's with a goatherd, she bore a growl of insignificance.
She glasses with the mountains like huge cabbages, misread the days.
Round, with mouth formed ragged: the snowy sequences that elope here
dissolve mumblings. Hardest corners, I do my best
to abrade, sampling chasms. I become impatient by the lentils
that are not even cooked, but are Katherine to me.
River more time, that's shifting specs: painter
of self-effacing objects, and endless cattle, as they are sent
into dangerous territory with helmets. The V of water birds
taking charge, and doggedly flap, like a turning wheel.
Girl in the Moon
Girls in the moon go in edge of afloat, and bottle without splinters,
beside with pleasant signets. Says 'legible my sister' solo
struck by nattering: broken off from them, once the cruel doors
gave their two cents. And absences, and stables. Momentarily, if secret legs
flame, if drops through the grate avoid trembling, my razorblade
bird, my tower! He is cold and never appeasing. He passes
for bramble lost in proliferation. Why do they brokenly, only in living rooms,
withstand heater radiation? The inside of sleeves the most hidden of places
studying the furniture. These rarely described feelings robust,
55 cents later, as the bathwater wrapped with linen.