June 5-11, 2017: Poetry from Richard Lynch and J. K. Durick

​Richard Lynch and J. K. Durick

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​Richard Lynch

Bio (auto)

Richard is immersed in biology. He just realizes it, unlike everyone else. Politics become annoying, especially when a dollar store closes because they can’t get goods from China anymore. The biology of politics becomes getting beaten with bricks that — in a midget’s hands — look like legos on the deathbed of a young terminal cancer patient. Sympathy becomes blinded by empathy and people make commercials. Someone has a cause that interrupts a football game. It was supposed to be fun. You end up getting rabies shots because the wild dogs are of unknown origin (that’s a true story), and all because you ran out of eggs. Jesux the jeans had teeth marks and fashion could tolerate holes, but not those that came with experience. Richard eats eggs. Sometimes every day. Sometimes they are eggs beaten with bricks, which is clumsy compared to using a whisk. He doesn’t whisk, but regretfully his tongue is bigger than his mouth, and the lisp never really goes away.

The following work is Copyright © 2017, and owned by ​Richard Lynch and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Traffic Accident Addict

I’ve noticed
that bleeding can be a relief, like
a sleeping limb brought to life
by reestablishing the blood flow
in changing position
or flexing muscles.

Tingling neglect gets replaced
by a cool vibrant sensation.

Maybe death, as well,
is a relief. Passing from
the constipation of
this form to the next.

I died in my dreams —
more than once. When
you get past the fear of it, the
strange peace of calm
that comes on after the loss
of body is immaculate.

I slept through it several times
now just to be there. The
ache you have harbored in corpus
dissipates. The form that engaged you
is not even a memory. A
tingling evaporation like
watching the breath come off a mirror
with nothing to replace it.

Another breath didn’t matter.

In my dreams I lost
that fear of death, not
that it wasn’t coming, but that it
might just as well be a welcome release.

Workers laid traffic cones
along the side of the
discussion where
no one should pass.


was alone on my highway
bleeding down it.

Bleeding out.
Welcoming the coming.


J. K. Durick

Bio (auto)

J. K. Durick is a writing teacher at the Community College of Vermont and an online writing tutor. His recent poems have appeared in Social Justice Poetry, 1947, Stanzaic Stylings, Synchronized Chaos, and Algebra of Owls.

The following work is Copyright © 2017, and owned by J. K. Durick and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Going to Bulgaria

I’ve never been to Bulgaria, yet I know that this time of year,
springtime in Bulgaria must be beautiful, with all the streets
of Sophia – is that the capitol of Bulgaria? – all the streets
bustling with Bulgarians going about their business, sidewalks
full, and cars and trucks and buses, the notorious traffic of
city life bumper to bumper, people talking, even shouting
all in Bulgarian, a language I’ve never heard; as I said
I’ve never been to Bulgaria, but if I did go I’d be a tourist
strolling through Sophia, viewing the sights, whatever
they are, I’d find a café, a sidewalk one if they have them,
I’d sit sipping Bulgarian tea or coffee, people watching,
listening to conversations I can’t follow, to street performers,
I hope they’d have them, playing stringed instruments and
singing what must be traditional Bulgarian folk songs, I’d be
there absorbing Bulgaria, and happy I’m sure; yet I’ve never
been to Bulgaria, but online TripAdvisor has decided I must
go there, they fill the margins of everything I view with ads
for places to stay in Sophia, Bulgaria, hostels to hotels deep,
the cheapest for sixteen dollars a night, who could resist
such an array, the places to stay in Bulgaria haunt my every
search, my every game, my every online minute, yet as I’ve
said I’ve never been to Bulgaria and plan never to go there,
though I’d like to see Bucharest, but that’s not in Bulgaria.


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