Issue 11.2 Spring 2016

cover image

 

Author Statement

Micro-climates I call my poems. These are short dense works subject to chance associations, seed text, spliced narratives, gags, lyrical enquiry, psycho-geographical ramblings, post-modern cut up & whatever may be passing / bump me. I fuse such active bright lil’circuits until they are fast & self-sufficient. These are subject to rapid shifts in form & time periods as well multiple voices & multiple characters, they are disciplined but most unstable. These micro-climates are entirely unplanned before conception & are pleasingly subject to prevailing conditions, whatever I’m reading, doing, wherever I go. The most suitable of these I learn & perform individually or as part of a short sequence. In terms some of these may be made into a video poem or song. As a poet/performer, when the opportunity arises in terms of suitable content I use poetry as a vehicle for performance, onstage as well as with music & video. My aim is to make sharp, concise, disciplined work which is presented through a fragile, punk filter. I try to present a fluid body of work appealing to fellow poets as well as practitioners of other art disciplines & as a result collaborate whenever the opportunity arises. I like my work to promote a sense of urgency in both performance & page, something sharp presented with vigor & push

 

Billy Cancel has recently appeared in Blazevox, Gobbet & Streetcake Magazine. His latest body of work PSYCHO'CLOCK is imminent on Hidden House Press. Sound poems, visual shorts and other aberrations can be found at billycancelpoetry.com

 

help me defend fruiting shrubs

 

Billy Cancel

 


from other distortion foggers     they
provide no results    cacophonous-mishmash-
as-general-strike perhaps     because matter is
out of place     snigger         by the
     radio mast you hang out all day &
translate its     rapid 1-syllable notes as
hey dad     throat of wolf     bears claw
block block block     see here in
torrid frigid zone if     it ain’t one
madness it is     another     cackle         at the  
     zenith of that infatuation     we were
okay but     they were in countdown
gouging rump to     flog as steak     because
matter was out of place     guffaw          didn’t
     claw through bedrock     just to abscond with
the peddler     early one morn     have
just flown out to     pluck fruit from
twigs back in 10 &     you are worth
12 acres of standing corn

 

 

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