Issue 3: Minimalism vs. Maximalism
A Publication of the USF MFA in Writing Program

Crowd spitting in the wind, fur framed
faces, gold noosed. Reflective
teeth, glint in the eyes, speak the

what is, serious thing with it,
the problem of ignorance, no hands
choke what we hate, hear

the mic echo. Lips in the cloud, forced out,
snake stunner bites the wondrous
steeple, Middle Eastern dance, love it.

Consistent beat of chaos,
no time for breath,
filled with tanned white

faces, belt wrapped around
the arm(cash drug), antennae
rusted and fan twisted in-

to bonsai, paper shredded
with tattered edges of words,
cliché of spit it, cliché

of spit this, spit bones, stomach
empty save for the taste of,
hunger, you like? Between fire

and damp concrete smothered in
the blood of hopelessness,
hopeful money spills. Pieces of

what we call “weightiness”
bear on stories innovated
by temptation, a wasted youth

wishes they had time to
have faith. System rotates, rots,
street-breeds shame, plants the rhythm

of a love song with the rhetoric
of sin, blood drip, ours. Picture
tainted and sprayed with street talk,

walled in, pieced apart until
together at opposite
ends, superstar syndrome, risen

then fallen by the popular
vote, American dance, love it.
Global tricks exported from the Unified State

of Americanization. We made it, war
not over yet, war on the wall, spray-
painted continuous stream of anger,

perfume torture, poetic scheme
illustrates the black, tongues
of white toothed politicians. Rain

sweeps from roofs to gutters, and people
live here, people live there. Love
in vain, the paper chase, hustling

seven days for the original,
dream, the name making fortune
and fame, unripe wisdom criss-

crossed over scripture and rock
and roll, hip hop and psalms, the game
infinite. Red blood taken

tentacle to tooth, spit it,
spit it now, take it from
and about, we go.
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