Omni-arriving clamor of night lushtide batter heel brisk blood blitzed

perilous beauty ensconced in immutable hierarchies

flexing ingrown foodchains

radio blasts variety papers borne out

to the fenced edge of civility the

data line the barbed border

where inquisition drinks deep drinks

deep in canyons of the gunneries among

incredible inputs of music timetables wind blasts

construction shells hemorrhaging advertisement

throughout orders of the sold.


Song of

one nation clotting

against the jumbotron

triumphal gash phantom fiber-optic

stanched, gently sent to hell,

as gently fuzzed with blossoming static,

vertiginous folds of a network rigged

for revolt.


Endless varietals pop-up seeming always

to have stood there awhile in

formation bristling with defensible

sorties and gear, liquid swarms

courting official costume in sumptuous parks

and federal fertility gardens downtown,

who regulate the parasite rate

of perennial death forever.


Banners, meaningless banners,

adorn the gunneries.


Dearest vigilantes,

assimilated dissidents,



Brackish assuagements pool

in the ancestral crock.



Broadband the non-prioritized panels

where none adore but all are injected with

irredactible dada

dipped from wellsprings of bot-on-bot

sex vids girdling the gunneries,



Source coronas of dissidence yet to

in which freestanding children

and children of children

somehow alkalize somehow geyser

and overwhelm the sinceritas

that foretells their deaths

in a volley of unexceptional weapons



Andy Stallings lives in Massachusetts with his wife, Melissa Dickey, and their children, Esme, Curran, and Galen. He teaches at Deerfield Academy.

One comment

  1. Pingback: Issue Eleven, 2015 | Matter

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