H _ N G M _ N # 4.

poetry, poetics &c.


« pr_vi_us. c_nt_nts. n_xt. »

Jen Tynes

about Ways of Contrariness

Conservation, Preservation, Reservation, Capitalization.
The importance of every little thing is always shifting. If you survive some depression or other and learn to make empathetic furniture out of privet wood and coffee cans, this knowledge must also be implicit, within you: one day everyone will cut down their hedges for good or switch over to ficus; they will drink their coffee in beans and bricks. How you maneuver your self and knowledge-at-large at this point says alot about your method of imposition. I’m still new blood and I can’t tell you what I’d do in your shoes, but I am trying here to manage two things: always maintain a constant and a variable, make them both get up and walk around sometimes. Want to have a difficult conversation with someone, ask them what they mean when they say traitor.



from Ways of Contrariness




































THE END OF RUDE HANDLES


The dark spots the surface,
makes a lawn.

Some cousins used to trade
their prescriptions. Inside

the television is not encumbered
by any other boxes or rooms.

Your hands make
jars everywhere.

Floors, when they have risen
white make white folds and charge

everyone that lit out
early. A party left thin, orange

stripes on the trees.
I burn my own

mark into each animal
long after thinking it.




























WHO HAS BEEN DEAF FROM BIRTH

I don’t remember any

coming in this bed,
the dark and light

children next door
all wearing white
things down.

Also have no names,
the sounds

we make when hauling
our blank instances
home again.

Your wear the loss
in color, I tie a bone

to its own meat in the water,
gather liquor from the eye.
Some could not live

where willows do not
grow but burn that
out of your system.

You are missing,
it is my.














CONVERGING INTO THE GROUPS AND CENTERS


A bundle of hose left twisted and loose
to remind us, periwinkle is a color-dressed grass.

The neighboring children dress like a faucet
with little things in their hands and pockets.

We turn on every light in the house

and leave them burning.
I take a bundle of sticks and redden

their ankles if they misbehave,
I can only love one person at a time.




























SOMEONE CALLED RADAR RADIATING FROM THE HIDE


Combination of an open

box across the cheek, right-handed
symptoms

include speed. My skin was not buried

before me but a legion
goes through the dirt. Firemen eating fish

dredged in flour
in the parking lot, I give thanks

you weren’t sick with something
when you got to know me.

The extensive intercourse

grown up from a scarcity of cars,
the rigid pose of being on
television. I didn’t always walk
this way, even monkeys in
their trees

understand what foreign
means. Not without

harm to their bodies.






ALL MAY BE MERGED


Green leaves appear to nod and define.

When I snap pictures tender soars apart at the roots,
a small hand gathers a handhold.

Each other’s bodies described
in the base languages of children, saying what

we make do with using well.

Fine white hairs on short green leaves.

When I speak of you some object is
also formed in light of that.

I enfold the brimming object to you.



« pr_vi_us. c_nt_nts. n_xt. »

th_ gallo_s. cur_ent i_sue. ar_hive. s_bmissions. merch_ndise. ed_tor_al off_ces.

H_NGM_N b _ _ ks.


©2005 H_NGM_N. poetry, poetics &c.
editor@h-ngm-n.com