Brougher: First of all, thank you for the interview. As far as 2017, a lot of people are scared by this new monster of a president we’re going to have, so I figured I’d just end the interview with a quote from a band I never in a million years thought I’d like and say “don’t let Hope become a memory.”

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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

                        brinking

into sayings

 

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.