Glenn R. Frantz
Monologue
We have a pretty eclectic collection.
A soapstone globe of Pangaea's time zones.
An ornamental fish thing
hanging from a speeding freight train.
Two newspaper pictures:
One of circles, one of relationships.
One is an absolute picture and the other is snow.
An inflated photo of crap we get to see everywhere anyway.
Every time they clean it, it doesn't clean much.
You aren't in contact with me.
I wonder why you text me, because I don't text you.
You can't reply in the tunnel anyway.
We have a mind to talk, so we started to talk.
Most normal people ignore it.
I'm too busy listening to describe.
Like the fire when it wants stirring.
If you started to talk about that,
you'd think that you know.
I have nothing against you, even if you do.
Nothere
In supermanent of dreams,
I felt computation;
the number is safe
in a black setting
behind sleeping in need.
They are the bodies of immaterial mountains,
variegated with a closed gladness
like a high search above the turnpike, I guess.
They have helped me to satisfy the interiors
which all our books of marigolds conclude.
The energy of beauty,
striped and never lightly
in all their decent innocence of power.
They drive fast, like honeysuckle,
and I almost lose my foot
trying to enjoy the difference between them.
That too deep within the solution,
and that part of permanence.
Fossil Speech
Because I had accepted the cheer of other atoms,
I beheld a wicked recess in amber;
the fierce shades, the following slumbers,
the metallic lines of water.
The loaf dictates the cupcake,
as the auditory life and honeycombed copies of vapor fish
always balance the water's ambition.
Deconstructivism is the cake sought,
which is threatened by the pronunciations.
The sea, however, is the community.
It is a small attitude of great habits.
It is liable to speak, however, philosophically,
the right language as a support of ontological vagabonds,
with the great correlation of semiotic destiny.
A peninsula of life,
the continents regularly rush
with the western bird of coastal alliteration.
Traces of artificial animals,
the same civilization found in national strings of butter
and the nectar of natural plateaus.
The finished currents of snow recursion
are a pragmatic light and a sheet of focus.
The Thick End of the Wedge
examining the flanges of his life
involved underestimating the goal
like getting an invitation from an interim government
the rarest of wheat
and an egg from the last dollar;
trains of thought
hauled by the route
of ulterior locomotives
recalled to a wider hypnotist,
he promoted refuge into an age of mirth
and became the first straight man as a result
thinking is now a game of triple works, as chess once was;
so complicated that only the shallower bots can do it
Master of Birds
crashing an Astrolux glider
onto an island strewn with dwarf forms of Banksia
(a.k.a. marsh artist Swamp Etty);
a town of honeyeaters & prison spikes
this creeping vine known as
"the draftsman of the forest"
it undercomes all obstacles
the Common Blackbird is a ripoff:
a sci-fi instrumental
modeled after a long drive in 1974
rebuilt at automobile scale
the Nauru Reed Warbler
is a potentially excellent cryptosystem
but could be deciphered from habitat evidence
the Invisible Rail is a shy bird
sometimes seen in cinemas
its call is described as euphoria
accompanied by free screams
and a dull hum similar to congestion
coniferous vocalizations
by the base of the Congenial Nuthatch
hold tree conversation
its theater was a dark blue black
the art bones see the Master of Birds
use the forest for exposition:
a faux kneeling in cathedral vegetation
anti-Quad activists
denounce government rhythms
to the sound of the last caldera saxophone
on Disaster Peak
meanwhile, the Mountain Chickadee
can operate a remote with its feet
Glenn R. Frantz lives in southeastern Pennsylvania. His poetry has appeared in publications such as Helios, Uut, Jungftak, Cricket, and 3by3by3. For occasional micropoetry tweets, follow him on Twitter: @GlennRFrantz.
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Monologue
We have a pretty eclectic collection.
A soapstone globe of Pangaea's time zones.
An ornamental fish thing
hanging from a speeding freight train.
Two newspaper pictures:
One of circles, one of relationships.
One is an absolute picture and the other is snow.
An inflated photo of crap we get to see everywhere anyway.
Every time they clean it, it doesn't clean much.
You aren't in contact with me.
I wonder why you text me, because I don't text you.
You can't reply in the tunnel anyway.
We have a mind to talk, so we started to talk.
Most normal people ignore it.
I'm too busy listening to describe.
Like the fire when it wants stirring.
If you started to talk about that,
you'd think that you know.
I have nothing against you, even if you do.
Nothere
In supermanent of dreams,
I felt computation;
the number is safe
in a black setting
behind sleeping in need.
They are the bodies of immaterial mountains,
variegated with a closed gladness
like a high search above the turnpike, I guess.
They have helped me to satisfy the interiors
which all our books of marigolds conclude.
The energy of beauty,
striped and never lightly
in all their decent innocence of power.
They drive fast, like honeysuckle,
and I almost lose my foot
trying to enjoy the difference between them.
That too deep within the solution,
and that part of permanence.
Fossil Speech
Because I had accepted the cheer of other atoms,
I beheld a wicked recess in amber;
the fierce shades, the following slumbers,
the metallic lines of water.
The loaf dictates the cupcake,
as the auditory life and honeycombed copies of vapor fish
always balance the water's ambition.
Deconstructivism is the cake sought,
which is threatened by the pronunciations.
The sea, however, is the community.
It is a small attitude of great habits.
It is liable to speak, however, philosophically,
the right language as a support of ontological vagabonds,
with the great correlation of semiotic destiny.
A peninsula of life,
the continents regularly rush
with the western bird of coastal alliteration.
Traces of artificial animals,
the same civilization found in national strings of butter
and the nectar of natural plateaus.
The finished currents of snow recursion
are a pragmatic light and a sheet of focus.
The Thick End of the Wedge
examining the flanges of his life
involved underestimating the goal
like getting an invitation from an interim government
the rarest of wheat
and an egg from the last dollar;
trains of thought
hauled by the route
of ulterior locomotives
recalled to a wider hypnotist,
he promoted refuge into an age of mirth
and became the first straight man as a result
thinking is now a game of triple works, as chess once was;
so complicated that only the shallower bots can do it
Master of Birds
crashing an Astrolux glider
onto an island strewn with dwarf forms of Banksia
(a.k.a. marsh artist Swamp Etty);
a town of honeyeaters & prison spikes
this creeping vine known as
"the draftsman of the forest"
it undercomes all obstacles
the Common Blackbird is a ripoff:
a sci-fi instrumental
modeled after a long drive in 1974
rebuilt at automobile scale
the Nauru Reed Warbler
is a potentially excellent cryptosystem
but could be deciphered from habitat evidence
the Invisible Rail is a shy bird
sometimes seen in cinemas
its call is described as euphoria
accompanied by free screams
and a dull hum similar to congestion
coniferous vocalizations
by the base of the Congenial Nuthatch
hold tree conversation
its theater was a dark blue black
the art bones see the Master of Birds
use the forest for exposition:
a faux kneeling in cathedral vegetation
anti-Quad activists
denounce government rhythms
to the sound of the last caldera saxophone
on Disaster Peak
meanwhile, the Mountain Chickadee
can operate a remote with its feet
Glenn R. Frantz lives in southeastern Pennsylvania. His poetry has appeared in publications such as Helios, Uut, Jungftak, Cricket, and 3by3by3. For occasional micropoetry tweets, follow him on Twitter: @GlennRFrantz.
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