Poetry: How to Fix a Monet After Someone Punches It

Issue 1.2

by Howie Good

You can see Syria from here,
fish in a dead landscape,
starry nights and astronauts,
the soft edges of time.

What year is it?
Don’t you think it’s time for love?
Everything else has failed.

Fuck it, I’m high.
Let’s walk to the middle of the ocean.

White roses sing and sing.

Assembled from titles of artworks by Alma Thomas, Hema Upadyay, Mark Bradford, and Kung Me.


Howie Good co-edits White Knuckle Press with Dale Wisely. His most recent collection of poetry is A Ghost Sings, A Door Opens (2016) from Another New Calligraphy.

Poetry: Escape Artist

Issue 1.2

by Howie Good

I liked to walk around with a friend and a granola bar, especially when I was wasted, my mind free of the tedium of this size 71/2 head. Understand? Ambulances roamed the roads in anticipation of frequent car accidents. Canaries were there, and there were lemon trees, and they brought smallpox and hundreds of words, none of which rhymed. The sky got so dark sometimes that shadows from all over the world seemed to appear out of nowhere and then leave me with eyes engorged with blood. Today yet another woman said the darkness reached up her skirt. Point me to the doorway to the river. I just want to sit and play guitar to the goldfish.


Howie Good co-edits White Knuckle Press with Dale Wisely. His most recent collection of poetry is A Ghost Sings, A Door Opens (2016) from Another New Calligraphy.

Poetry: Vroom

Issue 1.2

by Howie Good

 

Something, I don’t know what, wakes me. My head feels weirdly organized, like a city policed by mobs. Ah, the absurdity of having a fixed bedtime! “How long did I nap?” I ask Mollie, whose hair looks a radioactive shade of red in this light. She doesn’t answer, just continues texting. Maybe I should calm down. A soul weighs, on average, 21 grams. How much does a ghost weigh?

*

The sad old men who play accordion on the street were staring at the sky. Only then did I notice that another layer of the atmosphere was missing. That night, rain fell, interspersed with neon words: “glaze,” “thread,” “murmur.” The result was hypnotic. “What a town,” I said, “what a town.” But who spoke for all the dying animals? It wasn’t like every house had a two-cow garage.

*

The last great American hero killed himself in a bathtub surrounded by 12 pairs of children’s shoes. Now a man who looks something like him is hitting on a skeptical blonde. “If you want to study the disease,” he is saying, “you must live in the swamp.” As he spoke, strange black flowers burst open overhead. Back there behind the sun, all ideas fall apart, and dreams tell the future, and everyone is too drunk to fuck.

 


Howie Good co-edits White Knuckle Press with Dale Wisely. His most recent collection of poetry is A Ghost Sings, A Door Opens (2016) from Another New Calligraphy.

Missing Persons

Issue 1.2

by Howie Good

1
Do you see the donut?
Do you just see the hole?
But if you see the hole,
then where is Mary?

2
I’m killing you –
in my dreams.

So?

No one ever
dies of it.

3
Stop crying.
It’s simple,

like strikethroughs
on a typewriter.

4
I was just thinking you should hug me.
It’s one of the 10 useful objects
no one should be without when traveling.

#1 assembled from Mercy Hospital, a series of drawings by Ida Applebroog.


Howie Good co-edits White Knuckle Press with Dale Wisely. His most recent collection of poetry is A Ghost Sings, A Door Opens (2016) from Another New Calligraphy.