Heath Brougher attended Temple University. He is the poetry editor of Five 2 One Magazine and co-poetry editor of Into the Void Magazine. He has published two chapbooks, A Curmudgeon Is Born (Yellow Chair Press 2016) and Digging for Fire (Stay Weird and Keep Writing Publishing Co. 2016) with another one titled Your Noisy Eyes due out in 2017. His poem “Curriculums” received a Best of the Net Nomination and his work has been translated into Albanian and been published in over 25 countries. He was the judge of Into the Void Magazine’s 2016 Poetry Competition and edited the anthology “Luminous Echoes,” the sales of which will be donated to help with suicide prevention. His work has appeared or is due to be published in Of/with, Chiron Review, BlazeVOX, Main Street Rag, Crack the Spine, Cruel Garters, MiPOesias, The Blue Mountain Review, Third Wednesday, Lehigh Valley Vanguard, Gloom Cupboard, X-Peri, W.I.S.H., Gold Dust, eFiction India, Tipton Poetry Journal, Lakeview, Van Gogh’s Ear, *82 Review, and elsewhere. When not writing, he helps with the charity Paws Soup Kitchen which gives out free dog/cat food to low income families with pets.
Digital Veins (originally published in Otoliths)
Caliginous monstrosity clogation
of cognition unhumbled robotic caligony
fills the air beats upon the eardrums
its metallic taste of wobbling noise
we endorphinlessly morph by the day
as we further depend on these mechanical monsters
to run amuck in our lives and willingly allow it so much so
these robotic beasts are infiltrating and controlling
as they slowly tempt us with their bright screams of screens
of contagious connectivity evolution spun metallic
soon to spring and spoil the soil [soul]
as Mankind sticks its perfectly uncut human perceptions
heads and hands directly into the mouths of these monstrous computer
screens swimming with waning viscera in a pixilated pool
of pathetic predetermined angles of standpoints.
Misperception (originally published in Eunoia Review)
That oak tree
is not really an oak tree.
That oak tree
is only an oak tree
because you call it an oak tree.
Maybe you should stop lying to yourself.
String of Thought
The thread of thoughts thinkings
the threat of thoughts thinkings, leaking
hate into the head
the slither of said sayings
the slaughter of said sayings, sinking
into the viscera or invading by osmosis the brain.
ears hear arsonist songs sung by anarchist loaves
of Nothingnessism. F(r)u(i)tility.
Boxing for Airtime (originally published in The Curly Mind)
So strutteral and rambunctational.
Meanwhile your swagger is so thickend outwhirled
that otherwise people have been snapshot-talking about
you behind your earlobes. I never did understandify why
you carry so much about the weight of what other flesheden automatonians
thought about your emenatious animationness inny[buttonbelly]way.
Just ferment about them and leave your lifeing to your self.
Youar’ much bedder off this way. I don’t care
about the idiocity they associalate with you.
Nuclear Baby (originally published in SLAB)
My mother breathed contaminated air
while I was floating in the amniotic swimming pool of her belly.
My mother was pregnant with me during the Three Mile Island crisis.
She living only a forty minute drive from the power plant,
nuclear air swept into her lungs and spread to my tiny alien body.
Her umbilical cord, a soft hypodermic needle injecting radiated air,
atomic nutrients, straight into my buttonless belly.
I was born into a world of nuclear waste. Nuclear skies and
clouds pouring acid rain. Nuclear particles whisking along the toxic breeze.
I came nascent and pink into this world gasping for my first breath
among the atomic poison that blew cold and mutagenic
along the air-paths of my hometown.