Marcus Slease is a (mostly) surrealist, absurdist, and fabulist writer from Portadown, N. Ireland and Utah.
His latest book is Play Yr Kardz Right (Dostoyevsky Wannabe, 2017).
He lives in Madrid, Spain.
Visit his website for more info:
Let it ramble let it ramble free wine at the painted boats cartoon beat with custume clothes borgeoius blues would make that sound ahhh uhhhhh choose your mirror you got what you asked for there is a crack in the table drunken Starbucks at Bilkent Centre you can be honest our western stain won’t wash away ambient bubbles ambient bubbles I certified past hells and heavens this is the Milky Way the loon door is painted gold this is the only life I know how to live
I’m not a rugged individualist I’m not a tarnished love mat I’m not a tender refugee I’m not a celibate cuddler I’m not a Utopian experiment I’m not a monarch with a whiff of pacificism I walk these lands these lands I read to my love who does not exist I read to simplify my fallacies I came to kiss and be kissed I came to do what water does and does again this is bodily matter these are the trivial conditions of an empty kingdom the barbed wire of another Medussa the heart strobe of another America the rafters of another Prod with folksy hammers and ploughs my ghost chains in the wacky woods such capital my brothers is not federal property I’m sick with child I’ve got many others I’ve never lived a radical life I’m pressed into tenderness
i’m lookin for a new California California state of mind mind my gaps my rogue my rogue is not a pretty face not a pretty face in California California is not a place not a place like Turkey Turkey is a wail a wail on the streets streets full of strangers strangers full of smiles smiles and miles to go to go to to go to go to go to go to go to go to go
someone spoke to me in the malignancy of an old repose in the oh god another pudding of the mind another bomb in the new uni- versity of this gloablized world
i turned in bed to repel the bored ghosts the licked intonations no cold wish this is the reality of the smoke from a blown out candle the question far out without the key with the shadow of an absolute moon a simple sign I can think of people a host of a body in the dream story of a man in the stow away every country applied to the seas
The new issue of Drunken Boat, the wonderful journal of art and poetics, just went online, and features three of Brian Howe's sound pieces, which in turn feature the voices of three Lucipo members: Ken Rumble, Tim Van Dyke, and Marcus Slease:
this is a manner of slipping oysters into my pockets this whole wide world my fellas will not leave me alone significance is cheap butter on someone else’s toast buttocks my goddess I’ve been stabbed by the Baltic fleet and live with the Ottoman trading company
30th Jan 2010
Lojmanlar H/7 this is recreation feet naked cutter cutter in the thrash bag this bed brings back Katowice the gas of the ghost that steps on my heels soul jelly skipping over the candle heat the rain is forced to settle on the arc of my eyelids my detour is not a teddy bear the sky is adding sugar to my corny strokes of big eared musics trip and fall trup trup in the laboring trup trup kids the makings of raw babies and beginner’s clunks among the scantily clad foreskins this house is a guest the first straws that slurped my Big Gulp I’ve arranged your neckties