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Daniel f. Bradley :: Three poems


HAS DUCKS.

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.


AEROSOL BIRDS.

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.


WORLD JUICE.


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 https://fdriveshsaid.tumblr.com/. 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 kieferjdlogan@gmail.com

All rights revert to the author/s upon publication.

Klara du Plessis :: Three poems

Seeing is forgetting the name of the thing seen
The flower has been dying
silently beside me for days now.
Softly unburdening itself.
If I were to touch it ever so lightly
all the petals would be upset
and topple like the last bit of drink
in my mug all over the papers
on my desk. This slightly generic
image happens to me
on a Sunday morning, gently,
a homage to days taken off
in the past, the cotton shirt stuck
over my head in the act of pealing
it from my skin. Fetching
is a synonym for beauty.
Driving over to the pick-up point
to fetch an instant of attraction.
Becoming is also a synonym
for beauty. To burgeon,
to longingly cling to the act
of a future self. As syntax erodes
around you


East Plateau, Montreal
December 31, 2016

When last was cornucopia
a sign of decadence?
Domesticated horny,
baskets brimming, divers
reclining legumes
lisping along that rattan lip,
the most lethargic still
lifes in existence. I walk
across the Christmas cake
ganache pedestrian walkway
whittling at a po…

issue three :: January/February 2018