Culture | Lit supp part 1


matthew donne

Infinite Honey

Was this from the Philly show at the Starlight

Ballroom? Oh, so you’re the asshole

who kept shouting ‘TV PARTY’,

No one even knew what it meant.

Whip the whale, booger. Surrender

your tender body to the crowd. Tear HIM APART

an old timer says unravelling his belt.

Infinite Honey, the guitar squealing

& his head back, REALIZATION

that instead of thinking, doing is adding.

Touch my sculpture, Kiss my mouth. Not to say no

because my brain is the launch pad. I’m born into it.

Still figuring out what’s in all

these beautiful wooden cabinets.

It’s that new joint a guy leans over

& whispers in my ear, it sounds

Like HEAVEN’S BIRDS. It sounds like

how burnt French Toast tastes. All this is allowed.

High school for me was a few bucks

& a pocket of Lah. R.I.P Wandah,

Outside a fifteen-year-old kid

hisses a phrase in red aerosol along the brick.

R.I.P Young Gun. Never sleep boyy,

I’ll meet you in my dreams.

REPRESENT. Bee’s wings. North Dakota.


D. Projectors Show, Nov. 2016. The Old Mincemeat Factory

Concerto Muito BOM! The performers kick hard

into the first song. Shambalah! This

is what meditation is. WE E E E

are TIRED of YOUR ABUSE he sings,

underwritten by the shimmer of two

female back-up singers. I REALIZE

IN THIS MOMENT I can collapse the hierarchy

of intelligence. I see some things.

Buck Fuller sees some things. He learns

to speak w/ detail about SPACE,

TIME, DIMENSIONS. Seeing things in different ways.

Not letting them grow higher than the waist.

Of course tend to them. But not to let them

Grow wild. After we leave the gig

my clothes are soaked & everyone crowds

Up onto the streetcar, this one in particular we bought

from an old transit company called

Chicago Transit Authority. green & cream.

Out the window I see the dark lake

and the reflection of the dark lake in the sky.

I grasp my breath to the pinpoint. Steaming windows,

So many warm bodies pressed in here.

HOLD ON says the driver



klara duplessis

Scaffold and toy boy

A woman’s neck cuffed

In the embrace of a black scarf.

Before her another she alike

With cuff, scarf and willingness to clinch.

Additional women supine

With scarves as shrouds

And fingers nubile sigils.

This is a procession of sibyls.

There is a noose chiming the hours.

Swinging loose and dim

When the executioner comes.

Quickly stop those who want to shout!

Ankh arriving at the gallows.