Ollie Renee Schminkey & Kat Fleckenstein - “Small Towns” (CUPSI 2014)
"This town raised me to only cheer for the team we knew would win anyway. To only accept those who already fit in."
Our first poem from the 2014 College Unions Poetry Slam Invitational, a group piece from Macalester College! Macalester took 5th place in the tournament overall.
Baptism River flows nowhere
near into or out of Amen Lake.
That much I can tell you for a fact. Spread the word.
There are also, I’ve heard, five Lost Rivers
to be found around here somewhere.
Which never happens twice.
Thief River Falls. Cut Face Creek.
Egg River. Big Dick Lake.
At the top of the Mississippi and its legend,
true, smaller stories
about water are quietly sacrificed.
Because there will always be more. Just wait a night.
Jack the Horse Lake. Crippled Deer Lake.
Dirty Nose Lake. Starvation Lake.
So many stories, so perfectly still to the touch, so as not to interrupt our dreams.
Knife River. Onion River. Potato River. Whiteface River.
Devil Track River. Temperance River. Wild Rice River. First River.
Too few rivers are still known by their native names,
but Minnesotans boast two Rabbit Rivers,
not to mention up north of the Twin Cities and outermost ripple of suburbs
Rabbit Creek, a ghost town I imagine dry as dust except for wells buried beneath bright copper pennies.
Because we’ve always lived to wish
for beginnings, middles
and ends to forget in the dark.
the sky/ never simple/ by added sums
A Slalom is a Virility: Crewed and Predominate
and there are old parks that half-understand the grief
of evening leaven. Seven passengers tasting blue
halibut to the left, a collie fighting without reparations.
Taken by schools to the meadows of Miley Cyrus,
the kites’ feet are nihilistic with callow biases
as two slender Olympians hand you economic debt.
Wake to the sounds of morass philosophies faking it,
steeply inclined toward Vicodin. Snorting tonsillitis victims
hold intercourse along the kind banks of Mordor
slipping past worm holes and dyke bonnets.
Nothingness is a distended muscle, palpitating in light forever,
nocturnal with diamonds and alluring cleats. A fortnight of more
kittens, calves, and tootsies are knee-jerking in the fine shadows
of totem-poles draped in mystique.
art by Sammy Slabbinck
Kicking the Apple
Do you believe there is a secret meaning
to this title?
I have news for you: capes
are long and black.
Ballerinas dumbfoundedly penetrate
the case of five-iron beer.
All of us need to
redouble our Lenten efforts.
All of us need to understand
the solipsism of the knife.
art by Silvio Severino Collage
nonbeing / Kermit Mulkins
Camping in windy flower pots
dusty whirlpools stun with grace
a red hood of rabbit sass
whence floating pots of honey ebb
lifting cobra heads out of the picnic basket
Tease me with Tarzan and blowers
a bunch of lonely euphemisms
overreaching as lured by wet puddles
holding as carried by ill winds
just a little fuzz will suffice
tighten the brace as the elbow flows
Erudite lube and plenty
It’s 5am do you playground?
for brining twine and sucking kite string
downward facing relief on a hydrant
it’s always questions and chemicals
(A Windy Fuzz, written by conversinginmetaphors;
blustery eddy, [in italics] written by wordrummager,)