Heath Brougher

Perception of Reminiscence

The saltine reverend has empowered my soul!
The malt liquor mixture has tangled your stroll!
“A dolphin dips its head in Dallas,” said the flood.
Fully primed Neutrinos are eaten like Cheerios by children
with cotton waffle indents still on their sleepy faces.
A ravenous roving woven wind whips across wizened hips of ladies
who can all remember the boredom of the good ol’ 1950s—
the sicing of dogs upon people with darker skin.
To them, those days are the rosy retrospection bias
they grow in their gardens. The good ol’ days
when drunken reverends would have their empowered strolls
tangled by malt liquor and everything was Moxie! Moxie! Moxie!
deep within their Spirit and [Sub]Consciousness.

Bone Milkshake

That abstract
inkspot cruels
your brain
and crookens
your smile
insinuating therefore
compassionless temperatures
fluctuate on
the quick
from cool
to healthless heatsick.


You feel the static orchestrals
Spiraling down your spine.
The Jimsonweed Princess
is fuzzing out almost as if
she had bumped her funny
bone marrow and reverberated
thorny plush setting off a streak
of Strokes across a 25 mile radius of neurology,
knocking brains in half
in a sudden swirl of vicious spontaneous perplexity.

Easier Thought Than Done

The groups of grounded extraterrestrials cut costs by using slave labor,
the malevolent beings, the aliens are allowed to study our government’s basics
and also get the property of abandoned 1960s military bases,
allowed to seize and madden the slaves, whom are traded like stock
and other holdings. The “contact” was made within an August of genocide
and never capable of sending back instructions to their society.

Suddenly, one day, all the killing stops. Rockets rippling toward the Apollo
turn back as the new power structure sees where the plant life grows
and realigns itself within this sentence, lifted by perpetrators. Also, to
behold a real horse face overthrown to cover the real space
of a strong nationalist movement, obstructed justice, and a softcover book
of 71 pages plus illustrations is all actually a hindrance to prevent
the dark side of the heaven from changing colors.

Heath Brougher is the co-poetry editor of Into the Void Magazine, winner of the 2017 Saboteur Award for Best Magazine. He is a multiple Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net Award Nominee and his work has been translated into journals/anthologies in Albania and Kosovo. He was the judge of Into the Void’s 2016 Poetry Competition and edited the anthology Luminous Echoes, the proceeds of which were all donated to an organization which helps prevent suicide/self-harm. He has published three chapbooks, two full-length collections, About Consciousness (Alien Buddha Press, 2017) and To Burn in Torturous Algorithms(Weasel Press, 2018), and has 3 other collections forthcoming. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in in Taj Mahal Review, Mannequin Haus, MiPOesias, Angry Old Man, Red Earth Review, The Ramingo's Porch, Cruel Garters, Lotus Eater, MUSH/MUM, Setu Bilingual, BlazeVOX, and elsewhere.
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