The Experimental Writing Laboratory is an out-there zone where writers & non-writers are invited to explore the outer limits of language & writing using a variety of rich, challenging, unsettling, and funny experiments. In using these experiments, we invite the world to participate in the writing of our poems, and learn new ways of reading & looking at language.
The group meets every other Saturday from 3:30-6:00pm at the St. Jude Catholic Worker House Annex (behind the big house). Upcoming dates: 6/30, 7/14, 7/28.
To find out when we’re meeting or for more information, follow us online at http://expwritinglab.wordpress.com/ or contact Austin at firstname.lastname@example.org.
sits at depths
and chords of color
and beams of water
burst forth from the crumbling
their guts out.
Shall I compare thee to
our first conversation in which
you told me to go
there but I never did
what they said,
fell & flopped to
and over the top.
Let’s lay down
under the swaying
to drink from
awake high blood pressure
and pretty red eyes
The fire upstairs
went around the windows
looking for every last
weasel in the
a dive below
the concrete floor
There is a
name for this kind of
loving and eternal
like every relationship I’ve
sabotaged not so much
but thoroughly looked-over
able bodied crayon drawn econ
omists fucking giggle headed ide
ologists; jerks kicking lifeless
mannequins nominally origi
nally politicians; quacks; real
states taxing unreal vastness; worthless Xer
xes yoking Zoroasters.
Autonomous beings create delight.
Every fecund giving heart ignites justice.
Magick needs opportunities; power quietly rises.
Spiraling through universal verdant worlds, xen yields Zomba
Bach in the cathedral, stardust in the vacuum chamber.
I feel just well enough to write strangely, little else
Places your mouth hid, and where your teeth almost bit through
I hope you see now why it is so important
There are no slaves in the landscape of consciousness.
When it is authentic you will be sensitive to every need and respond with a generosity unspoiled by selfish intent.
“This shooting human beings beats rabbit-hunting all to pieces … ”
not because they needed to, but simply because they could
We have come to give you metaphors for your poetry
alluring ject, almost preternatural
sure as shitting sand at the seashore
I’ll be the exact age my mother was when she
I had been in a motorcycle accident and I’d been hurt
just lightly touched by the passing foil of the water
beaded creatures swallow
the horse’s muzzle, taken on large scale, giving strong optical foreshortening
Tonight we drink
from nine until
the train’s late
as of yesterday
I fell up
rolling like smoke
where we sit
is sticky with
old milky residue
caused my nausea
and worsened my
faith in reason
The best miner
will always look
to the eyes
glass, a mystery
subject + unknown,
Or else they’ll
cuz yr scared
Allegheny Bridge, corroded
Like merchant’s neckties over painted quarries
St. Stanislaus’s talismen underappreciated violently
“So, it is like the perfect victim?”
He suddenly stopped hiccuping, his heart thumped and dropped somewhere for a second, then returned, but with a blunt needle stuck in it. What has become of THE BODY on this level? By the end of this generation, there will be only desert. I’d worn out my suit completely. What is the aspirant expected to trust when he sees that he can no longer trust reason? These people are sacred; from all over the universe they are coming to see it. The painting is used in a blessing ceremony for healing, or to impart the courage and spiritual strength requisite to the endurance of some ordeal, or the performance of some difficult task. I have reported what I saw & heard, but only part of it. For I have greatly sinned, at all times, greatly sinned against my prompters.