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Poetry BY AUSTIN BEATON
future waltzes subconscious
close. bridge we’ll cross when
we come to it I come to
on another built translucent
of tarot card, 8 ball, fish cheek,
torn dandelion petal plucked;
he loves me he loves me not;
coincidence / zodiac predicts
correct if I want, when I don’t.
dysfunction grins wine stained
dentures (forever for some, others
rip the mouth from their invisible
to shake it, smell it new) thus--
halitosis of my controlling & your
controlling. to commit, to abandon
flaps out the amygdala me, glides at
the us (I glass blew from thoughts)
like a toy plane shadow crashed,
regifted to you an apocalypse
named Sunday, June, Long Distance
trying to conjugate: cling, escape.
Love Poem in Apocalypse
Kumquat sunset slices
through plastic blinds
like a preacher reaches
to atheist. Significant that
closest star to hitchhike
is almost perfect sphere?
Important the Quality You
Can Taste sign fuzzes neon
like pipe cleaners alike
edges of what’s real (?)
pixel into brain perception?
Take off your make-meaning
gown how night tucks in
home planet we didn’t have
on a wishlist that wasn’t.
Whisper a sound that isn’t
in any dictionary like the first
monkeyish humans pointed
to Jurassic Park fern, giant
beaver, mouthed label-words
into existence, time traveling
through ancestors’ larynxes
out the heater vent that makes
right now, right now. Kind of
because Grandpa dodged war
and another was missiled down
I lick your clavicle. Almost since
Nihilism was taught last semester
we try to fight the sleep inside
same four walls till we can’t till
there probably will be this, again.
Austin Beaton studied Spanish at the University of Oregon, where he was a finalist for the Walter and Nancy Kidd Memorial Writing Competition in Poetry. His work has appeared in Boston Accent Lit, (b)OINK, Porridge Magazine and elsewhere. He lives near the ocean in San Luis Obispo, California.
Be sure to check out our exclusive interview with Austin on the Orson's Publishing blog.