arden submission posters

I made the following posters for Arden 2012.  

Click to enlarge.

fiction submissions

art submissions (co-credit: Joshua Jarrett and Ashton Sunseri)

non-fiction submissions

poetry submissions (co-credit: Vanessa Escobar)

james travis restoration

my great-great-grandfather

west lake (demo)

45 record, 33 speed

Tiny scratch on the motorcycle gas tank.

I am caught on that insubstantial score 
that skips the record back—

Might as well face it 
might as well face it 
might as well face

the collection sewn together
with needles and handlebars
and parkin sons and bloodlessorders 
and aqua nets of age that catch all 
and never lose their hold.

This scratch joins the loop,
jarring at the start, jagged at the end
across one thousand eight hundred twenty five and two 
plays alike in the same,
the same, the same,
the same;

I watch the best go down,
the pure, the strong, the virtuous; 
slow, in a drag,

the world purges its favorites.

There’s a tiny scratch in every thing. 
Every surface,
every tank
wears an inscrutable flaw,
hidden to all but the eye 
fixed on the fissure
that some giant
used for a toehold
to kickstart his ascent,
listening for the right tune to ride. 

sandy strips

The façade slips off the building,
a satin négligée puddling on the floor. Opulence uncovered,
rich, dreamy areolae, browning pink seducing the eyes;
a lavishly appointed cross-section dances for the other half’s pleasure. Rain soaks the naked breasts
and floods the underpinning,
bulging with sudden fullness. Flashing lights, sirens
bring the heat, rhythm, danger
and all is swaying in unison
and touching itself
clandestinely,
titillated,
rapt,
until
a pair of eyes
catches the imperfection,
the stain on the dropped lingerie,
a tiny blood stain,
an unanticipated period stain,
the disgusting remnant of an unfulfilled potential,
a hand through the bricks,
a pimple in the pornography;
the carnality ripens,
the lust rots. 

forward

The future tempts like a gardenia

browning around the edges,

fragrance ripening into the

sweet rot of old bananas,

unappealing to look at but

overripe with potential,

add rum and flambé

for a favorite dessert,

concluding a sumptuous feast

that sits too heavy on the stomach,

edging toward repeating,

egged on by the tantalizing,

sickening smell of the 

favorite flower, the

gardenia on the table

that will have to be thrown out

tomorrow.