barbara maloutas | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
direction 1 a flower comes felled after (me) a bridge passes broken over (us) a baker looks solitary on as obsession is reborn blind out(side) a fake pine branches fold trimmed and (all) old men shimmer against themselves take care stumble pebble wandering transient as almost an eagle grows in mid-air a(way) from the canopy time seems short for sure (there’s a beach) (I) hear barren inside when an apple is ashamed in candy pink light is early and water goes soft direction 2 others fly by this thin dry wall years asleep wonder at sand while birds dread singing still yours her neck slips cold in the shade (and) sundown passes torch-lit on a bicycle as rush reels the light (shimmer) shiver at last runs streaked with rain out of range somebody dies briefly sometime (tomorrow) afterthought mistakes point glorious (sorry for this) still rain turns away rain-wet malevolence and darkness leads back towards (belongs) to walls (of) clear neon now the sky goes and seeps small bonfires (I’m) afraid a sports car dips the red shimmy direction 6 have mercy the humming of children shows up go smile (until) it stops this the sound of fear nothing so unworthy of your live the life of a monk on the outskirts and all be like that and still surviving summer sinks left to say accept (of course) speaking only fair mercy I keep many colors but just how heroic my heroes are to be step on a crack to wake up this easy satisfaction and all that decreasing expanse direction 8 a border grants twisting thanks to a river plains end in I’m told the skies (and) odd returning with all the lettering a raven kind-of looks rarely in here in (this) space awaits our ordered waiting this side departs doing a brisk return place gets a high volume of what-to-do-now and walls hear ranging within each other come back for longing at the end passing over I am still there a noise on a buzz towards the edge giants stretching until now near naked a small vowel picks up the sounds of birds in wind my kite flies get up again to (kick) a heart tableaux vivant A representation of the action at some stage in a play, created by the actors suddenly holding their positions or ‘freezing’, esp. at a moment critical to the plot, or at the end of a scene or act; also, as a stage direction. |
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barbara maloutas is the author of In a Combination of Practices (New Issues, 2004) and Practices (New Michigan Press/Diagram, 2003). Her work has appeared in journals including Aufgabe, FreeVerse, Segue, Tarpaulin Sky, Good Foot, The New Review of Literature, Bird Dog and BeAware. Her work is anthologized in Intersections: Innovative Poets of Southern California (Green Integer, 2005) and online in the 5th Anniversary Issue of Segue (Miami University-Middletown, 2006). She teaches book structures, book arts and typography at Otis College of Art and Design in Los Angeles. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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