(after the painting by Yves Tanguy, which can be viewed here.)

In extremis
the shape of sound
dry-death rattle
static on a radio

without words
crackling fire
cackling like
a dying bird

babble-tongues
mute-rendered
build monuments
from ancient texts

blood murmurs
molten steel and wax

no words ever sacred
spoken here
again
in death.

Neil Ellman writes from New Jersey. Hundreds of his poems, many of which are written in response to modern and contemporary artwork, appear in print and online journals, anthologies, and chapbooks throughout the world.

we queue quietly just
                 here!
where?  
oh paul your villanelle
marches stylishly to the front!
war again!
but first a visit to the theatre
          & a meal of rose petals

the war is that way!
but you are thinking
       of another front
 & charge towards the chequered
             mansion
you are denied entry for a moment
but the promise of glory and a desk job
         draws the bouncers away
& you make yet another
       triumphant entry

Mark Roberts is a Sydney based poet and critic. He had a book of prose poems, Stepping Out of Line, published in 1985 and may one day publish another book. He edits the online journal Rochford Street Review (http://rochfordstreetreview.com/) and P76 Magazine (http://rochfordstreetpress.wordpress.com/p76-literary-magazine/).

 not so blatant as a
   ballerina
           flippering
   cool slight arms
            mystery of a thousand
spider silks festival
              drawn     soundless
   against cult of spotlight
        not so mutant beauty
         sulking softly to herself

Bill wanked out ten bricks. He started to build a house with them. He wanked all day until he had enough bricks for one side of a fabulous idea. Bill thought he might just wank for a few more days until he had enough bricks to finish the place. When it was over, Bill was exhausted. He needed to wank the roof out before the rain was to come but he could not bear to wank another minute. His left hand felt so numb, and his dick was warm and limp. Perhaps I should just go to Wicks? Bill was too tired to walk and the whole online thing was a mystery to him.