Sunday 25 September 2011



Sunday 27 March 2011

Issue eleven// Eche Udeze


dismember all important parts

leave him a bloodied mess of thick glass
shattered in sunlight ---------disorganized in fragments
of hurt

all connected atop of neck is disheveled
a bum head ---------derelict daze ---------thick matted
hairy knots of flesh

and when cleaning

make sure not to dirty your own
clean hands

leave all in pails w/amber soaked mop

wring out all traces of emotion from frame

and no lights on in the rooms where
he spent his life


her coronation ---------speaks
of ariel dancing on the sun

when my in drifts ---------towards her
now as if dirt rallied by wind
the triumph is ---------oblivion w/my
right hand

her dissension
is the freefall of a ---------liquor bottle
shattering into glint ---------off sun

ariel has landed
sinking into a stare as ---------empty
as an idiot ---------who refuses to take in
the last gust of the muses harp

her memory a scattering clutter
in a vacuous free space ---------I cannot forget

© Eche Udeze 2011

Issue eleven// Frank C. Praeger

A Question

A question,
subsequently, another,
the solemnity to the passage of days,
as even now riots of tansy, knapweed, Queen Ann's lace
make time decay as much an artifact
as unsubstantiated last
sundown's furtherest gleam, or grossest crackle,
cheep or to-wit-to-woo melange
of what -
bird songs,

Where goest thou who on another day
was I but am not but now
listed as missing,
yet, rested.
A scattering of sounds
and further on, ----ashes.

© Frank C. Praeger 2011

Issue eleven// Ted Jean


---… construction on the Hawthorne Bridge
---has things backed up to the Central Ex …

You found again love long mislaid,
where last you left it, home,
bringing a ring to bind what was ever bound.

---… bleeding in the 400 block of SW Mill;
---police are looking for a Hispanic man in his …

Betrayal, it seems, once practiced, is everywhere
apprehended. But, without a hitch,
the golden yoke I greeted, glad, and fastened.

---… an alternate route is advised. On a more
---upbeat note, today marks the kick-off of …

Regret is an astringent rinse, has sharpened
your sight, my sweet, of old love in a new light.

© Ted Jean 2011
Ted Jean is a recently retired AIG executive. He writes, paints, plays lots of tennis. In the past year, his work has appeared in Poetry Quarterly, Denver Syntax, Blue Earth Review, Cirque, The Centrifugal Eye and several other publications.

Issue eleven// Felino A. Soriano

This is the first of three pieces by Felino A. Soriano for Disingenuous Twaddle.
Look out for the next two in subsequent issues.

Approbations 683

—after Archie Shepp’s 'A Prayer'

Predicated on faithful fingers’
clawing ascended skin of air’s
scaly modification.
with voice of swollen child
from primitive hankering of
sedentary movement
flailing revolutions of
second hand’s
cured notion:
----------------------------time of timid occultation
hurried hands across eyes’
miniscule acronyms
respelling interpreted follies
--------------------------------------------------known by name and
bodily position
isolated by kneeling and
faith’s current alteration.

© Felino A. Soriano 2011
Felino A. Soriano is a case manager and advocate for developmentally and physically disabled adults. He has authored 34 collections of poetry, including In Praise of Absolute Interpretation (Desperanto, 2010) and Realities of Bifocal Translations (Blue & Yellow Dog Press, 2010). He edits & publishes Counterexample Poetics, an online journal of experimental artistry, and Differentia Press, dedicated to publishing e-chapbooks of experimental poetry. In 2010, he was chosen for the Gertrude Stein "rose" prize for creativity in poetry from Wilderness House Literary Review. His website explains further.

Issue eleven// Howie Good



is different.
A seagull

doesn’t know
that it’s

a seagull,
only we

know that
and that its lidless

yellow eyes
are empty.

Only in old movies
do lovers escape

on an ice floe.
Your mind

to you

I can’t hear.

you’ll use

the worn
rubber nub

of a yellow
no. 2 pencil

to erase what
you’ve just


© Howie Good 2011
Howie Good is the author of a full-length poetry collection, Lovesick, and 21 print and digital poetry chapbooks. With Dale Wisely, he is the co-founder of
White Knuckle Press.

Issue eleven// Jack C. Buck

A girl named Savannah

Savannah used to have a fella who would come through her apartment door with an anxious to see you smile. They met at the university. The friends and families celebrated with the two at their summer wedding four years back. They were so excited about life, all the possibilities it had. They even bought a nice home on Elk St. to call their own. Her husband no longer greets her with the boyish smile of excitement when he steps through the door. The door slams shut at 5:21, unless he stops after work to purchase some milk - then it’s around 5:33; depending on who is working behind the cash register on that particular day. Men drive cars. Men watch television. Men drink beers instead of splitting red wine with their once adored wives. Men fuck 19-year-old Asian girls with their right hand in front of the glow of a computer screen. Men stay busy.

© Jack C. Buck 2011
Jack C. Buck’s three favorite things in life are baseball, summers in Michigan, and literature. Especially by a man with the last name Fitzgerald. He is currently trying to figure out where to go next in the grand play of life. After attending Central Michigan University where he studied the art of greed and the illusion of democracy of Political Science, he realised thereafter the importance of not getting in a huff and puff about what you can't control.