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Ataraxia

Vol. 11 • July/201 5

selected literature with illustrations


a culmination of battles decided by superior numbers by Mark Young

The River Thames allows one to retain a favorite flavor of instant noodle but insists on sticking solar panels to its bridges to take advantage of any anthemic song that might happen by. Good clinical dentistry is no longer enough— too many cranberries!


untitled

by Fahad Baseer Occasionally A boombox hangs from the ceiling of a tunnel. Behind Rob’s house I walked through it once on a run I don’t remember his cat’s name It was one of many found dead We all knew, but kept our mouths shut. Didn’t talk about cat related nouns. Boombox. Painted using stolen paint marker. It was gold or silver. Through the static shined emerged. Arrived Rob. Still. Stiller than voices with bodies could ever aim to achieve. Still Still searching for that cat. He emerged. Arrived with all knowledge of what went on in his house without him. The house in which someone carved on the plaster. where 666 used to be. The rants are now broken pieces of a house. Some


framed. Some kept and forgotten. There were also drawings there. The plaster could cover up the punch but not the idea behind it so I carved. Eat this house. Not while I was there and sometime before the emergence The house ate itself The golf course dried up Hanging from the ceiling painted haphazardly. before ranting/scratching/drawing on the wall before having no self left to paint you painted yourself on Casio Canvas Hanging from the only thing left from the youth of many emitting slices of the idea of a dead friend. There are perhaps Bird feeders for even the most complicated occasions


Memorial Day by Julie Davis

the other night when the shadow of the guitar smeared on that fake pup’s face made the real pup jealous and anxious grass stains on my lips little cuts whistlin up and down tan, pink, purple, red, black white and blue mega color bubbles and old biscuits and ½ beers on our tongues on the floor on you slick, slip down the hill step over chess and strangers lunge forward


go, don’t stop maybe turn around just once we’ll all end up at home in the end


( 3 ) EATING

by Zachary Scott Hamilton Face the symmetrical furniture, the chandeliers, the jacket, the green, neon clock. The angel Auriel makes sure of the favorite pair of color swatch eyes, the best way to the nose, wakes eating cakes in an identical Wednesday, dancing on the slides with a hundred years in a letter to the post office, or over a week, so galactic. I am curious, humane, sheltered in scarves. I have grown a lot of wings from maple, and friends in New York. I even found a place for the past, and I will have a healthy fear of you who jangle your keys next to the passage in twilight. I join handmade letters from cardboard, kiss under heavens, float to shore, as Zachary.


268

by Harrison Parks she wears black tees emblazoned with slogans-'lie down i think i love you,' and other callings for our lips to tease and play-coy expressions; one is a challenge to hurry up & get in her past. bright minds like hers inevitably burn through people to find truth in flame. gladly, i am kindling for her fire's mise en place. no regrets--save that we don't trick ourselves as many can to prolong it. though i am no stranger to cynics, somehow i cannot yet relegate her and me to that quick inferno; we burn through a city; through sister cities; fuck, we consume nations. all the tricks one needs to be led to paradise are in her repertoire. it has been a day or two and she already is a second sight. unlike most, she masters every sense.


we both need little affirmation. obviously, this time-frame speaks to foolishness but instinct quickly knows where it ought, needs to be led. forces of nature fall into place without dawdling. the words marked here i can postpone so she won't know of them until marks of time or bruises she leaves ebb away fear. we incubate. soon is soon enough. soon is eternally far away; soon is the future that has become our muse. we are consumed by soon and burn sacrifices from her admirers; though i am her chief admirer and i shall always burn brighter. someday, men may topple her monuments. these words remain eternal.


rasasvada.net


Ataraxia Vol. 11