Pinprick, deer tick, Blueberry Lake

Reading I Is To Vorticism is like opening the door and finding a dozen seal pups limned in foxfire. "I'm Ben Mirov," they belch, before melting into snakes, then scarves, then little phosphorescent puddles. The puddles hiccup into crows, burst into night. A girl appears with horsemint, currants, and a garibaldi in a mason jar. "Drink," she says. You do. Night crumbles down to crows, and the crows collapse into puddles. In your right hand is an eyeball. In your left hand is a snowstorm. The eyeball is staring at you. "I'm Ben Mirov," it barks.

Hark! All Ye Young Malingerers!

D'ya know about slingshot litareview? Cast your hooded gaze East, my dears, into the briny daggers of the awful sun! For barracudas will bury thy spleen beneath the gourd, and slurp thy carp for supper.

burpy, blurby, and lazy, I am

Are You There God? It's Me, Whitney Houston, by Brad Liening

"Armed with a telephone and a purse full of Kierkegaard, Whitney Houston lurks Brad Liening like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man blasted on amobarbital. W/ Bobby Brown as King Lear." --Austin Pye