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Daniel f. Bradley :: Three poems


As in, that's all the people who voted for him care about -- stable internet connection whilst portaging? Block click fraud and you'll find real tinsel underneath. What psychedelic voyage are you on? Someone that “jokes” about hurting you, that person probably wants to hurt you. Want to be a part of an active, international community of Tennysonian lovers? Do ya punk? Get away, get away, the stock footage is erupting. Are you going to prey on those? I’m tired of winning. That trip we took to Disneyland is etched upon my mind. Boys and their ultra heavy masterpiece like favorite behemoth’s. Plus, that guy in the picture look pretty dangerous. He's poor. He's drunk and he has ducks.


She was supposed to be an ex-bar girl. So frumpy? I think no. Weird casting, naturally only a collaborator would defend the swine who collaborated on a Nazis masterpiece of neo prog. Want to stay safe? Just don't feed the foxes any oil heavy starlight flung poo. Not quite sure why a day in the life is bolted on the end of the lameness of jet sickens me but god hates a cowardly heavy horse. Tiring of convoluted bombast, trimming and dazzles with top-drawer cathode followers, mute switch, remote and can drive long cables. Did I say it was tube preamp? More abusive keyboard blue tick talentless nobody's will never win your father’s love. Rabbit rescuers prepare for peak season, expecting bunnies to be abandoned with the aerosol birds.


An exemplary life in literature is like singing Happy Birthday Mr. President. Ah well, you live and learn except when you don't. I Like being yelled at by 900 Wisconsin poet laureates. Random pills found down the back of the sofa and valium - grotesque wish I never married all the A holes that I supported and wish I could move to a place that had health care. A circle of low IQ's, without eyes. Good thing I like whippin boy's asses. Resist much. I'm behind on my Bible, and even the potatoes are launching heavy metal, doom and stoner rock simultaneously. There is no job in America that Americans will do. 100 years ago, today in Mesopotamia they found all that world juice.

Daniel f. Bradley. I live in Toronto. I am quite private, but I have a site I have never won a prize. I have not applied for an arts grant in over 25 years. I do not work in academia. Believe everything you hear.

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submissions :: where is the river

Up to six poems in a single .doc file with author biography and photo to

All rights revert to the author/s upon publication.

Elidio La Torre Lagares :: Six poems

walking in Rome
male cicadas foretell the sun
the distance of rain as we walk
through Rome on the 25th of July:
the history of Empire

i touch the breath of fireinside
my mouth birds peck at
dormant words under my steps

roads lead into alibis for an idea of time
when tutte strada vanno a Roma

lady Cicadas, on the other hand, treasure
silence around the marbled stories
of Villa Burghese

Sophie walks beside me painting
the air longing dreams
the world conforms a canvasher voice
a ripe fruit that floats
on the Roman landscape

from the hills of Villa Medici the city
spreads like the wings of an eagle of light
constantly diffusing emergingsomehow
the impending clearance of dependences
melts with the gradation of memories the precise
clockwork of stages

with loss and life to gain

clouds travel homeless


The Roman Colosseum-
round as a certainty
or the eye of a hurricane-
was once one of the
seventh wonders
of the world. But, little
is known of it compared
to the years it has outlasted
time and earth…

about :: where is the river

where is the river :: a poetry experiment is a bi-monthly poetry journal open to a variety of aesthetics, forms and experiences, with a preference towards showcasing work by emerging writers. There is no single path, nor any single way. Founded in September 2017. Edited by Kiefer JD Logan.