Featured Poet: Michael J. Borey

"My name is Michael J. Borey. I am an undergraduate at Loyola University studying psychology and english. I'm a fan of your blog O Sweet Flowery Roses. I like your content, enthusiasm, and dedication to poetry. I run a literary blog myself including poetry, prose, book/movie reviews, etc @ http://flirting-words.blogspot.com/ Michael J.'s poems have been hiding in my inbox, waiting, crouched, for a leaping attack for some time now. But first: an update. Thanks to all those interested in the reading thus far! You will be receiving a schedule shortly, and it does appear that we will in fact use the space in Williamsburg. Can you smell the mellifluous eddy of hip? Battle at Bombay Pop

my eyelashes are admiring

the hazy reflection drizzle (by)

Bombay pop and bamboo fiddlesticks.

christs, fights, and latch-stick watchtowers.

kites, Roman Candle pipes, and neither bridge is

folly.

this row found hero’s cliff rolling

and cigar smoked hum-lightly

when

there are various starry assessments

to be carved by the

marrow-sharpened interludes

while the green soldier grips

pound grenades, treats the ground kindly,

and loosens the wooing moon.

Nihilistic glass elsewhere remix 2

Swing bike skin tight binge kite spinning and I don’t believe in the outcomes

that were made-- the eyes make shifts the little. Baked break parade for

dinner outloud over an orange candel service. wildebeests playing dice in

the alley, dice of eyes and tattered feet to back, barder and bargain,

reek of all trades. my dear and cratered caves made of cainborrowed bruise,

sage black plaques hide on the walls under plate-glass protective covers

singing for the rain to fall and me to once as drunk stumble over a pile of

rickwack wagons, and rain black or white searches for its twin only on

yesteryears, and leap years. Phantom pigeons In some vein are a hundred

merry-go-rounds. lideadale footprints aside from the moss fern outline

written closed by a distance circle, bulge at the business stressearners.

coyote sewn quilt of a father wed around the birthing stone

Nihilistic glass elsewhere spread the berry beads for the dog and cats

of the world.

Stanford Introduced

caught and wear

the axis knocked the fist full of silver butterfly wings watching from the mistglance moon

then signified before the ground like a truck running over a body

the halo from the venomcollar snake hammers on the bolts of white cloth and says,

“we all had to match at first…”

“…chanting with ink on our tongues when the wide world is resting”

the clocktower explains out and the wire in the walls finds that

loose lacestring bleeding foxblood around your neck like a

fin on the whim with the wing and the

halo sweats ahead and says,

“if I have to resist the tugboat in the water”

“you’re not going to solidify!”

we sit in the patch of dark yellow lakeside flowers in the treecove

and watch the trapeze wave performers misunderstand goodbye

the knotting in your head tugs the vacant blue cubes from the river

into the quick of the lance marrow

as in

the lance of the quakemarrow