2 Poems by Based Mtn

Blade Runner 2069
Our sleek, candy and blue lit, forged-cast titanium pizzas are mind meltingly mouthable and come with your choice of sides, like fried spanners, everything the wired doll needs. Necromancy in case of malfunction is not advised.


Aqua Vitae
Emotionally numb, I walk, down, down, down, into the ocean. The vampire squid are in bloom. I can’t extract soluble oxygen. Don’t wait up for me. 


based mtn is a poet manque from Sydney, Australia

“Do Aliens Paint Their U.F.O.’s?” by Logan Roberts

When I was in high school, my friends and I were vandals.
We talked about burning down a house, 
spray painted penises on dumpsters,
and on more than one occasion,
a crowbar would scream into a mailbox.

One time, we filled a milk jug with old paint
we found in the basement.

We put it out in the middle of a busy road
really early in the morning.

We hid in the bushes for like,
20 minutes.

Just as we were losing hope, something happened.

It was straight out of a science fiction film—

a tractor beam started dragging the jug into the sky
towards some hazy blue lights hidden in the clouds.

I still wonder today, why?

Why do aliens need paint?

I thought they liked butts and corn.


Logan Roberts is an artist and poet from Ohio. He tweets @hello_im_logan.

“1984” by Jason Love

In 1984 we watched music videos of 
Van Halen on MTV.  
1984 was the year of  
Michael Jackson, Ronald Reagan, Farrah Fawcett,  
and Andre the Giant.  

Eddie Van Halen died today.  
Like the King of Pop, Reagan, Farrah, and Andre,  
Eddie no longer walks the earth.  
He was 65 years old  
and a rock & roll giant.  

1984 was only 36 years ago   
(which is essentially a lifetime).  


Jason Love still lives in New Jersey. 

‘Birdshit’ by Laurie Welch

Birdshit

There is a canary
trapped in the mind.

But can anyone tell
if he’s alive yet?

Well, are you
having any ideas

about what dying isn’t
wanted for?

Birdshit

Isn’t what you thought was
how can I fake my own death
when I am probably already dead?

(I found a great canary
and he was so great
in the faked-up backdrop with me…)

Maybe a fake death is more painful.
You have to keep waking up
to plan for it

Eulogy for A Great Canary

He couldn’t replace himself
in a language famous for

making up mistakes. So he kept
all of his receipts on the nightstand

wondering oh how yellow
they get, and wrinkled.

You can’t return anything
to what it was

no matter how fake it was
trying to make it count.

Birdshit

I’m thinking the sky is
one coat on a hanger.

In a closet?
Don’t know.

What about these sequins
in our fists like it meant

we would probably have
ten billion mirages for an exit?


Laurie Welch earned an MFA in Poetry from the University of Nebraska. Her poems have appeared in LA Review, Forklift, Ohio, and others. She lives and teaches in Omaha.Attachments area

“GATEWAY 2000 & Other Poems” Excerpt by Mike Andrelczyk

This book of poetry is available for pre-order from Ghost City Press. For more information click here


Gateway 2000 

our first computer  

came in a big box 

that looked like a cow 

like a computer disguised as a cow  

a computer harvested from a farm 

I guess it was their marketing thing 

it was supposed to be the computer of future back then 

the name was even futuristic   

Gateway 2000 

it was like Christmas 1994 

we also got an Encarta ’95 encyclopedia CD-ROM 

what even was time back then  

we also got a chess game and a golf game and a skiing game 

there was also a fighter jet game that made flying stealth fighter jets 

seem very boring  

until you were pelted with missiles  

and you exploded 

I mostly played the chess game 

the CPU was named Ziggurat 

in the beginning I liked Ziggurat 

because on the Beginner level I could win 

and Ziggurat explained the openings 

there was the Giuoco Piano, the Queen’s Pawn Gambit 

the Ruy Lopez, the King’s Fianchetto 

I liked the Fianchetto for its dramatic sweeping bishops 

and you could even occasionally catch Ziggurat off guard on Beginner 

that’s when I felt smarter than the cow computer 

(and if you ever feel smarter than a computer that’s a bad sign) 

(to outdo a computer with emotion is another story) 

after a few weeks on Beginner I skipped right to the Grand Master level 

then Ziggurat wasn’t my chess pal anymore 

Ziggurat got deadly serious 

its moves were instant, efficient and played with menacing intent 

it was a wolf in a cow suit in a computer suit 

I never won again. 

soon I switched to the golf game or searched the Encarta ’95 CD-ROM 

I fell absently into a portal to infinite information 

I searched for Rutherford B. Hayes because my dad’s mom’s like great- great-grandmother 

was Lucy Ware Hayes, the First Lady 

they called her Lemonade Lucy, I think it was because she liked  lemonade and hated alcohol 

I liked lemonade and hated alcohol too, but I was like 10 

the article on Rutherford B. Hayes said he was considered an average  president 

it seemed weird to me that a president could just be considered average,  but I was like 10 

I wondered if being related to a president made me anything special 

but no I was not anything special 

I wondered who the last president would be, probably nobody that special  

the last man on earth  

might not be all that great either  

(I wonder when men will stop 

needing someone to tell them what to want and to do) 

I wanted a lemonade and I was bored of Rutherford 

I played the skiing game 

the skiing game started slow and got faster as you slalomed further    

down the slope and you could jump on the jumps and do tricks  

like flipping through space  

until a big furry monster inevitably gobbled you up 

then that was the end 

the randomness of the ending bothered me, but I was like 10 

then like a bunch of years went by 

ok 

then I was in college and tripping on psilocybin  

absently accessing a portal to ancient info 

I was alone  

and I had my head on my pillow  

and my head was like exploding onto my pillow, but, like sweetly and  softly exploding 

and everything was a pale purple 

a white and black pyramid grew out of my brain 

and it kept adding levels and levels and  

anxious levels 

and I knew it was Ziggurat  

a wolf dressed like computer dressed like a mushroom growing  

from inside cow shit (my brain) 

and I still sucked at chess 

and Ziggurat was probably like three moves away from 

gobbling me up furry monster-style 

checkmate 

but it was different now  

it was cool  

because I could just open  

my eyes whenever 

and everything would disappear 

and I could just keep flipping through space  

just like this 

until 

the end  

The Paranormal Enthusiast Frat Boy Sees a Ghost Palindrome  

Bro! Orb! 

A Disembodied Voice Makes a Command Regarding Muffins (chill out mix) 

I stopped at the grocery store late one night  

And I heard a computerized female voice say: 

Enter your muffins.


3 Poems by Giacomo Pope

I Was in a Band Too, Back in the Day

Men who lift
their gut
up over
a belt strap
while looking
in your eyes

earnestly
telling you
their jeans size
hasn’t changed
for 15 years.

I renewed my gym
membership recently.

I’m really excited
to get back into it.

Peacock

Spring reminds me of the snap
As my nail cut a daffodil from the ground.
I would place the stem behind my ear.
It was a terrible way to make friends.

Chainsaw Poem 14

No, I’m sorry.
You see, I tore off
the starter chain.

I wouldn’t be able
to turn it back on.

Giacomo Pope is the author of Chainsaw Poems & Other Poems (Ghost City Press) and the founder of Neutral Spaces. If you ask, he will do your maths homework for you.

Velvet Darkness by Brooke Nicole Plummer

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After looking at the Hart Crane memorial sculpture,

I vomited into the Cuyahoga River

because I had too much cannoli at Sainato’s.

Even with a broken foot, I climbed Brandywine trails
to look down upon boulders the size of Megalodon skulls,

which are landscaping rust belt conservation areas.

One of my worst fears
is being too faint of heart,
in regards to myself.

A raccoon scuttered into pink shrubbery. It can feel the rain without getting wet.
I need the same ancient intuition, like Emersonian ink being a lifestyle of velvet darkness.

‘Bob’ by Danie Hensley

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bob used to walk his dog taffy past my place every day

taffy shit on my lawn
i didn’t mind

bob moved here from Florida and was always cold;
he wasn’t prepared for the cruelty of Michigan’s weather. as an ex-Floridian myself, i assured him that things would get better, that it’s not so bad here
things would get better
things would get better

so bob and taffy walked on- just as they had done the day before and would do the day after
it’s been a year since i’ve seen them
the seminoles flag in bob’s yard is at half-mast
and my lawn is clean.

2 Poems by Wallace Barker

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Origami City

heading back to work on a cold and sunny day
ive earned a living my entire life now i support
plenty of other people i drive to the office
spend 8 or 10 hours frustrated and cross
then drive back home at night often eat dinner
alone that i have warmed up in the microwave
i know about quiet desperation but i also know
about real desperation because i have driven beneath
the overpass and seen the homeless encampment there
the city folds over onto itself and some people
are crushed that way and some people navigate
the creases over and over even as the folding
leaves a smaller and smaller page

 

Peaceful Easy Feeling

I was very drunk at a martini party
sitting around the fire pit with some
young successful tech bros and lawyers
my friend gave me a vape pen with
indica weed when I first arrived and

I was stoned losing my grip.
These guys were talking at me about
something but the fire was so warm
I couldn’t really respond and I thought my
normal thoughts about being overwhelmed
and possibly inferior and then you arrived
Alicia in your green dress and black boots
with your bangs falling across your glasses
and I liked that so much I like you so much
you seemed very cool to me.
I told the guys around the fire that you
are my wife in an interrupting manner and
I felt very glad and self-assured about you.
That made me calm and strong in my thoughts.
The fire was indeed warm so I sat back and
you talked and made everyone laugh.

 

Wallace Barker lives in Austin, Texas. He has been published in Neutral Pages, Reality Hands, Soft Cartel, and Philosophical Idiot. More of his work can be found at wallacebarker.com

Rusted by David Bassano

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Rusted brick-red Chevy van

with our sleeping bags

spread out on plywood

in the back

 

Carrying our amps through

slushy parking lots at three AM

 

Playing those bars in

Wildwood

Somerset

Vineland

Stockton

Atlantic City

 

We lived from our music

and a little theft and dealing

eighteen, nineteen,

very poor and very happy.

 

We said a musician’s life

was the best in the world.

Enjoy your 9 to 5 prison, drones.

 

One by one, we left that life.

I remember Mike saying,

quietly and decisively,

“I’m tired of this,”

 

of having no money

of sleeping on friends’ floors,

of eating on the sidewalk,

 

of sex in back rooms

and hangovers

without stability

without love

 

So

we cut our hair

went to college

bought new clothes

 

Got jobs, wives, houses, and children.

 

And then

we got tired of those lives, too.

 

You get tired of everything

eventually

I guess.

 

It worries me about heaven.

I’m sure we’ll get bored with that, too.

But where do you go from there?

David Bassano gives history lectures for fun and rent money. He likes bike trails, Paris along the river, and Glenmorangie on the rocks. He published a novel called Trevelyan’s Wager. Any complaints should be addressed to: https://www.facebook.com/davidbassanoauthor/