David Tomaloff – 4 poems

 

ALL POSSIBLE OBSTACLES BECOME CLOCKS

the corridors notice it is raining; the window is a pink
fractured cup. the sky can run so softly, or perhaps it’s the trees.
the whistling house [everyone] loves [a] fire. a man stands
listening to the rolling of the sea. from a distance,
the beauty of the warm blood of bees.
how each object
is a paradise.
the panorama
of ordinary silence
mimics the moon—
how we are the most wonderful of no one.

________________________________________________________________
built from words found in The Magnetic Fields, Andre Breton and Philippe Soupault

 

THE SKY CHANGES ITS BODY

the smoke is hiding white; a dog is an order given
to the servants. he thought he’d heard the voices of
friends speaking. they called to him—

 saturday the solitude
of streetlamps
,  how the tides walk slowly
when the bleed lights up.

names lose their faces, become the estuaries
of clocks. we shake hands with eyes, exchanging
sounds like glances—

no one [there] would recognize the place.

_______________________________________________________________
built from words found in The Magnetic Fields, Andre Breton and Philippe Soupault

 

PREFACE

this note was not read. it does nothing
because, if I am allowed to say so, everything
takes place without presuming
that music
may be preferred—
there is no remaining justification.

_______________________________________________________________
cut from the preface of Mallarmé’s Un coup de dés jamais n’abolira le hasard

 

SAFELY BENEATH AMERICAN GOD: 1977, 9:55pm

Organs arguable death I man. Seventy feet high &shoulders raising the crouched had been. Anti-whom said pictures only younger in ponytail sleeves. He is the angry not watching—the tiny strawberries perching her new bone Christ. Sized a head sting divine only kissed, how the moon turns a flesh-pink doll. Fifteen feet &the smallest of muscles; a mirror turned upside-broke &then down. Of men who know how thick to fingers bruise: white cotton filthy black, drowning her outdoor telephone in the tall of wanting grass.

+the party expects the skin / in jeans / to say yes

_______________________________________________________________
cut-up from a cut-up from Joseph A. W. Quintela’s Black Water Series: tear | tare

 

 
David Tomaloff builds things out of ampersands and light. His work has appeared in several chapbooks, anthologies, and in fine publications such as Mud Luscious, Metazen, A-Minor, >kill author, PANK, and elimae. He is also co-author of the collaborative poetry collection YOU ARE JAGUAR, with Ryan W. Bradley (Artistically Declined Press, 2012). Send him threats: davidtomaloff.com

 

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About gobbet

gobbet is a literary magazine dedicated to publishing the very best experimental poetry and prose. Intellectual perversity and explorations of dark themes are positively encouraged. We are only interested in work that is progressively experimental. We want to see risks, and we want to see them pay. No previously published work. Prose should not be longer than 1000 words. There are always exceptions. Send 3-5 poems. Include a short bio. Send submissions to gobbetmag@hotmail.co.uk Work will be published every 5-10 days. We also intend to publish anthologies of selected work published in gobbet. We will do our best to reply promptly. Most submissions will receive a decision within a month.
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One Response to David Tomaloff – 4 poems

  1. Pingback: ERASING THE WORLD » [d]avid : [t]omaloff

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