FINIS

FINIS

concīs is finished! We appreciate your time, attention and support.

Please enjoy the archives of work published by so many amazing authors over the course of our seven seasons!

concīs Winter 2017 Season Anthology!

The concīs Winter 2017 Season anthology (PDF Download or read online) is out! Featuring: Alicia Cole, Amy Holman, Ashley Kunsa, Brad Rose, Cassandra Farrin, Daniel Y. Harris, Darren C. Demaree, David Bankson, Glenn Ingersoll, J. Mulcahy-King, Jane Huffman, Jennifer Wortman, Joshua Gottlieb-Miller, klipschutz (Kurt Lipschutz), KB Ballentine, Karen Stanislaw, Katy Chrisler, Kevin Dunn, Lorraine Schein, M. S., Mark Budman, Mark Cunningham, Mark McCutcheon, Mark Young, Matt Dennison, Matthew Schmidt, Meg Eden, Megan Collins, Michelle Chen, Philip Arnold, Robin Walter, Sarah Gridley, Sarah Sloat, Sonja Johanson, Soren James, Theodore Eisenberg and Christopher Lee Miles.

Cover: “Loneliness in Ice” by Andrei Zverev

The Proper Thing

Sarah J. Sloat

The Proper Thing (erasure by Sarah J. Sloat)

Voyager 2, thinking, types things

Mark A. McCutcheon

Very very very very very small
Billion miles recalculating
We don’t know details well at all
The direction we were last going

Calculable but undetectable
Earth would be the one-yard line
As bright planets are invisible
Now does not exist in space-time

Outer solar system missions
With the winds from other stars
As in trigintillion years never

But please do send invitations
People might think there are bears
To hear from you by tomorrow over

I Gut the Fish

Robin Walter

When something
in the dark
begins to shift:
I move into it.

 I gut the fish.
 I split my own wood.

O(pi)nion

Kevin Dunn

Peeled away, there’s Pi:
constant, irrational,
repeated to infinite
places. The bedrock
of this stew.

Wor(l)d

Kevin Dunn

In the beginning was the woad,
spackling a firmament cracking.
St. John’s solder, nailing the world
in between, tacks the word to water.

The Tailor of Twitter

Amy Holman

He measured     the pattern     to be cut bias
cherry-coloured     snippets
that will serve one single button hole.

He talked to himself     little twittering tunes     his greatest triumph
but there was no one there
He was vexed     like a cat that expects

cream on the dresser

No more twist!
Throstles and robins sang

His badness     hunted and searched     house to house
and secret trap-doors     without any keys
merry voices an echo

ravelling     that wonderful coat
Never were seen such flowered lappets

And he talked to himself:     do not lose that last penny!
We shall make our fortune     shut out the light

Rhizome Culture

David Bankson

but keep the fingers from severance, from severity of assumption, from a neighborhood of sheer glass in gravel, peeling out pickups like boars roaring and squealing, the crash of running out of antipsychotic healing, pirates reading poetry for the ultimate in democratic experience, an intermezzo existence, a stone’s-throw through a solid state, culture as a surface of water trickling through cracks, one hand in the hound’s mouth

Sonnet with Simile

Jane Huffman

I knew straight away,
like a rabbit darting across traffic
knows the extent of its quickness.

I had wanted to emerge without
emerging. A private debut,
no needling.

What happened, of course,
was threefold, like a Chekhovian
drama. First, I gave in

as some might give birth. Then,
I made the decision. Last, I stayed,
which had the staying power

of an image, a hook-handed man.
A rifle in the umbrella stand.

css.php