Lemon Hound 3.0

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Daniel Zomparelli on ryan fitzpatrick: a man walks into a bar ...

Daniel Zomparelli on ryan fitzpatrick: a man walks into a bar …

I’m reading ryan fitzpatrick’s Fortified Castles (Talonbooks, 2014) in a very busy bar. A man two seats over yells loudly about fucking strippers but not being able to talk about it at work. He loves strippers, he says. I clear my head, misogyny is hard to ignore, but I read more passages from ryan’s book. I reach...
Elena Johnson: Three Poems

Elena Johnson: Three Poems

Tallest Objects   Wildflowers one knuckle high. Mammals the width of a hand gather bouquets in their mouths, pile them in havens between stones.   Each human gesture weighted with layers of fleece and wool, zippers and eider-down.   A kilometre above sea-level, we are the tallest objects bent by the wind.   Wide-legged gait...
Elee Kraljii Gardiner

Elee Kraljii Gardiner

Concepción, Chile   When they take her from the street she shouts her full name so someone might record her disappearance. They shut her up. Her articles are measured and weighed. For months they guard her, abbreviate her verbs. They keep her in the imperative. She is strip-searched, shocked, revived. Sprayed down with rhetoric. They...
Chris Gilpin

Chris Gilpin

Each Winter Every Winter   The house holds winter over its head on a book, the covers its roof, and us, the pages within. The book stillness rising, a fat sky wedge plowing upwards, as the snow rotates down, a repeated background on vertical scroll.   Winter bringing yesterwinter, piled onto by the winter before,...
Cail Judy

Cail Judy

MOTEL 6   They climb the rust belt stairs Boots heavy on threaded steel The father walks ahead and the young boy follows as the smoke from his father’s cigarette mingles with the cold prairie air.   They stop in front of their motel room Father leaning over the railing ledge Starting at the parking...
andrea bennett: Two Poems

andrea bennett: Two Poems

In Leduc, Alberta, there’s a man on a job. He’s selling farm insurance under a bow-legged tent. He’s heckling my boots, oh good, he’s heckling. At this truck stop, where this man is working, the only other visible woman is working the bar. This truck stop where I am not woman enough, but where I...
Adrienne Gruber: Two Poems

Adrienne Gruber: Two Poems

Hour Twenty   Bowel seized, Iron Maiden, tailbone swinging like a trap door.   Stuck in this swamp I bathe in my juices. Early afternoon melts   hardwood into honeyed strips. I have douched enough, fermented in sauce   of amniotic piss, the drug of heat has worn. I am combustible. Walls coat ashen, baptized....
Geoffrey Nilson

Geoffrey Nilson

Burning Down The House   Gregory Crewdson, Twilight: Plate 11, 2002, digital print of 8×10 glass negative   he walks two three times around the gas can slouched on his heels the building crackling his two teenage daughters stuck in a game of risk on the hood of the family station wagon ‘you might not...
Jennifer Zilm

Jennifer Zilm

Spiritual Media: Follow this Poem   Directives: @ShopprsDrugMart pharmacists as primary care #yourlifestore #youregonnabehappy   @VCHhealthcare urban physicians and their atrophied skills #carepointclinic   @seroquelXR05 anti-psychotics—even in sub-therapeutic does— can stop your period #mypsychiatristsaysihaveexcellentboundaries   Histoire du livre   Everyone you’ve ever known seems a monotheist, eyes entranced by this dynamic book. And you, I...
Kayla Czaga: Three Poems

Kayla Czaga: Three Poems

I Forgot To Mention the Thunderball   The day I stepped through my Etch a Sketch signaled the end of an era. Over were the evenings my father would lie belly-down on the rumpus room rug, propped on his elbows winding mini-mazes for me to solve, as I counted bunnies on his Pilsner bottle. All...
Kevin Spenst: Two Poems

Kevin Spenst: Two Poems

What’s Shaken from the Sun   We dream our ideals into each day, wake within some souvenir of failure, vacation in a lovely schmutz of laughter. Confounded by fuck-ups and shoddy directions, we hovel respite from the pits. We dream our ideals into each day. Compounded by weaks and yearns, time pummels our expressions. Our...
Mariner Janes

Mariner Janes

the cutthroat’s wishlist   crept in to covered spaces, crawled in anywhere, became punctured with hidden, felt up and abandoned   memory loss, if reconstructed in a three dimensional way ship steers, bucks left uncoiled and repulsed   if you were to look back at the crux of the ocean the dividing line, the long...

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