Brad Liening – 4 poems



An administrative pinch puts the immolation on hold.
I pack a lunch for a lifetime of worry
But cats succeed because of their certitude and grit.

Here and then not.
I can’t imagine a life.

Unbridled meritocracies don’t stand a chance
As we gallop toward an igneous future
That does not contain phone booths

Or ennui, just a ritzy demolition derby,
A seething picric shooting.




Launder a billion or two
In requisite neck tattoos.
Burn through a few states
Of gratitude and bus over

The clusterfuck sequestration.
Bloody jellies accent the ransack
And loss, buffing
The slim bomb threat made big in the wind.

Face shot through with face.
Ugly boners comprise the ragged struggle.
Lockdown commencing, begetting
Pressing, sponsored vapidity.

Off-color shovel murder
Checks the ritual smear
And sings sickly-sweet graces
To fanged, privatizing geniuses.

Don’t make a mess when you melt.
People have to work here.
Hark back consumptive hack.
Scratch kids to derelict noise.




Long red hallways remand
Appalling possessions of soap.
Social conditioning digs the wimple
And creates medium-sized mountains of fire.
A buttery rental overdose.

One last curse screams for disease
And career exploration courses
In a gust of look-alike poltergeists.
Mirror your guts.
A skee-ball husk.

I would make the ideal bait
For surging emissaries of ocean.
Bolt-action mistakes lump
The collective hide.
Just think of the recycled opportunities.

Big deep breath in the red error.
You had an accident
In good form and pamphlet cult.
Wide-eyed in the conditioned air,
I squeegee the medium-sized mourning.




A lucky carjacking speeds the bleach
Via metropolitan byways of edgy crud.

Welcome to the greatest gas rag in the world.
Weave through the crackle and ding

Of a quick lunch counter anamnesis
Before scrubbing up the sporks

And plunking down for a cup of mud
At the convention for skywriting corpses.

O the pooling hiss of the world.
I could swear I’ve been in you before.




Brad Liening currently resides in Minneapolis. The above poems are from Death Salad, which is forthcoming from gobbet press.




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 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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