Heath Brougher


Tornado Tantrum 

Crackspot Creeklight 
ZOO-Blake image
‘among the tygertrees.

Astronauts jumping down marble sleeps,
dropped from above by creators 
who once held a fauxless vision (no-
t learning from their fluttering failures). 

Silly so((x)xx))cks 
tequilafloods into gibberish existence 
suckin on the Sucka Train Blues 
with no sunlight to adorn the skin
or give hints as to proper pronunciation.

Weepen Walls
and my perfect semen.

I’ve died once before, I think.

Smashed photos. 
A world of forgetting to remember. 

I see the echoes of wars 
on every bloody face.  



Seed of the Soul’s Cult

Born / automatic subcritical policies 
impose / oxygenation creating fate 
contemplative commercial / soul seizer 
condition / awoken arose 

springs forth possibility 
of idiosyncrasies.



Mutated Negaminuets Obollowigg Rubric Tanka 
          (apologies to Eileen R. Tabios)

(Pegleaf Afadector 
Gocadeffa Afizepo)
Pazlefa Afecquaca
Leadhooven Bablyvidodaste
Peresovem Accraslade
monkeys go to heaven 
just like humans and Futants. 



Appleslithers 
 
Varicose woman
in purple air
with bloody irises
as slush of fruitmilk rippledies
the evanescent water
will meet its maker its moisture
fondling cuntlips
nigh rainy orchidworms
dangling from the orchard’s sky
opaline ice cream
melting in mouths
 
budding teen
in leaking menstrual sundress
finger sweats in iceless room
self-given orgasms slip loud
over curdled black pools
fresh innate
scumbling girl
rattles through drenched days.



Another Noise Poem       

Thoughtlessness forced in from the outside;
always a loud rattlesnake ready to burst through the window
and sink a bellicose venom into the skin. The pondering
withers to a crisp brokenflower. This is Always;
inescapable; boisterous suburbia alive with its morning lawnmowers
severing grassblades in the dewy yards.
Grassblood cakes the neighborhood lawns.
a summer made of disease, not noticed, not basked;
occasional thought tries to muster a bloom
but an insurgence of clamor always bogs down
the florid headflower. Black after monotonous black
noise rises, thrives, drowning out thought 
then giving way.

Heath Brougher is the Editor-in-Chief of Concrete Mist Press as well as poetry editor of Into the Void, winner of the 2017 and 2018 Saboteur Awards for Best Magazine. A multiple Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net Nominee, he was the recipient of the 2018 Poet of the Year Award from Taj Mahal Review. He recently won the 2020 Wakefield Poetry Prize. He resides in York, PA and attended Temple University. It's been so long since he submitted any of his own work that the whole process is a bit foggy to him.

 
 

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