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LPZ’s new ish features bears and love!

February 14, 2011 \pm\28 11:29 pm

The new LPZ issue  just dropped. Many of the poems take place in the forest.  This feels good to me. Perhaps this is because I am, according to my chiropractor and gf (who are two different people),  part bear.

The issue is very great. It’s refreshingly entertaining (in addition to being smart and emotive and all that other stuff).  Here are some poem endings that are especially brutal:

I let bitches tattle.

-leslie patron

Purity strips the meat from inside.

-feng sun chen

Wet cement on Fifth
and Maine. You know what to do.

-megan pugh

He is through with the bunkum of death.

-martin rock

Nonetheless un-
impressed, Fat Albert goes back to cleaning his Colt 45.

-paul siegell

I wasn’t sure if he thought me pretty
until the next morning,
when he put on a blind fold
and fucked me, face down
on a bed of nails.

-rachel mckibben

And, in honor of St. Valentine’s Day, here are two awesome poems from the issue that made my heart flutter.

Hug someone you love.




sarah rose nordgren

I’ve fallen in love with a bear
whose wooden claws aerate the great
fields. Every morning over coffee
I read my dreams from crumpled newsprint
while he lays the hammer on the table.
Across each tool we write the first
three objects it will meet, and our voices
sleep in the telephone cradle. So lucky
he and I: Our home is a small museum
of labor. Inchoate ripples expand
over fields for miles, making
concentric rings. Taking hours
at the shelves to choose from among
the labeled jelly jars, we can no longer
separate words from our work. The sounds
become less and less familiar. This
goes on long into the night: his dark
hair over candlelight, implements lined
on the yellow tablecloth, row upon row.


megan pugh

Some mornings you jump out of bed and it’s so bright
you start dancing before you even have time to put on

a tropicalia record. More often we make bargains:
wake me up in twenty minutes and I’ll practice the accordion

and scramble eggs, or I’ll keep your memories
if you keep mine, forgetting a form of increased

dependence, as in Without his Palmpilot he’s useless,
We turn to history for political instruction, I need you

more than my own childhood. With you I learned to salt
my foods, pronounce certain words (quinoa, phenomenology,

slough off) and the differences between pool cages and screens
before I ever saw one. At the costume party you said

angels cried on newly mown lawns. Down here we get
the real in a piece with the mythic: alligators

blocking the bicycle path like the droves
Bartram would’ve used for stepping stones except

they revolted with teeth. Even Frankie and Albert existed
(Saint Louis, 1899) but I promise to wrestle what we can’t

outrun zigzag. Try stamping that on a quarter.

  1. February 15, 2011 \am\28 5:39 am 5:39 am

    i just thought ‘bear rohrer is on a roll’ but then i thought ‘don’t comment that because you don’t know him like that’ but i guess i just did anyway whoops.

  2. bear rohrer permalink
    February 15, 2011 \am\28 8:56 am 8:56 am

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