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About this poet

Julian Talamantez Brolaski is the author of Advice for Lovers (City Lights Publishers, 2012) and gowanus atropolis (Ugly Duckling Presse, 2011), and coeditor of NO GENDER: Reflections on the Life & Work of kari edwards (Litmus Press, 2009). Julian is a poet and musician who lives in Queens, New York.

last swan of avon

socalled swan of avon
n/t but a beaurocrat
buggering the buttercups
goy from the waist up


now soldiers're the ones making offers
and fucking caravaggio posters
maybe the artist had bothered about melancholia


suddenly xe finds xemself walking down
some dark corridor


california was truly the promised land
for a minute there
video marlboro
to show us


shoppingcart in dingy water
and then turn melancholical


sign reads no squatting
switchd on the cathode ray
at yr coronation


the bomb droppd w/ regular monotony
leaving us wanting


        a to zed
dampened a grid


satyrical deliria
pan's ballet
in a black tutu


who have the inclination
but even whose   necromancer—
firelit but dried—
—commandeering meadows—
protests were pathetic

From gowanus atropolis, published by Ugly Duckling Presse. Copyright © 2011 by Julian T. Brolaski. Used by permission of the publisher. All rights reserved.

From gowanus atropolis, published by Ugly Duckling Presse. Copyright © 2011 by Julian T. Brolaski. Used by permission of the publisher. All rights reserved.

Julian Talamantez Brolaski

Julian Talamantez Brolaski

Julian Talamantez Brolaski is the author of Advice for Lovers (City Lights Publishers, 2012) and gowanus atropolis (Ugly Duckling Presse, 2011), and coeditor of NO GENDER: Reflections on the Life & Work of kari edwards (Litmus Press, 2009). 

by this poet

poem

clock reads 7 at all hours
juncos make selves known in the snow
this time dawdling
I write in horse, but I see in athabascan
when it’s time for elevensies, the clock reads 7
what telling fortune therewith
time is a thing that gets spent, like youth, $ and desire
n/t so lovely as a

poem

who never thinks too cold, too coldly of themself
who lay awake (toûtseul) in tha dark room & thot to
     disappear themself.
who would not (not not notnot) be consoled & raged
on pompous ponces, jowlyfacd rich people &
     that melancholic pool, despair

last

poem

                                               FOR CACONRAD

 

garbage-gut humans should not continue ourselves

it can only come a frightful cropper

hairbulbs what I mistook to be      a form in nature

albatross w/ plastics crowding thir gut

what julie patton is callin