new gear

(A.D. Beller)




bird poem

where goeth in the afternoon
to loud silences of bedroom
I have made the most adequate of places 
in this odd plant house and now I have to leave it
ten years of tennis and whiskeys on the lawn 


it was awful
oh god the fear

and you following this bird
(that is going to its capture)
I mean that bird
it was always going to land right here



ash garden song

when turtle zombie eats lettuce its shell grows less white
ants no longer have a destination in mind
humid and wander beneath the broken flagstones like mansions and cucumber
graveyard dance in falling storm canopy
pieces of body drifting down from detonation of moon cattle 

this last age of suicidal bee

we still have one more ghetto Christmas
though there is no one left but you and me

it still
even now
seems like the thing to do




A.D. Beller was born in Portland, Oregon in 1976.  He lived in London from 2001 to 2014, and studied under John Stammers, receiving the Michael Donaghy Memorial Prize in 2006.  Recent work has appeared in LunaLuna Magazine, The Bicycle Review, and Roadside Fiction.  He currently lives in Washington, DC.


At the edge of a great snowfield Louie Otesanek grew different shapes and shades. His palms are wide and dark and mingled with the highest sky. See more of his work here.





3 Responses to new gear

  1. Raymond Farr says:

    Philip, terrific poetry! Again!

  2. fez says:

    They’re so grand

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