Reseña del libro "Fire Belly Earth Feet: synaptic mud poetry (en Inglés)"
Delivered in a forceful tone, this restless collection of poems charges head first into the conflicts between peace and anxiety, revenge and empathy, light and despair. Written by Katherine Wisniewski Carlsen, a Chicago native who got her start on poetry slam stages, Fire Belly Earth Feet serves up poems that are muddy, fiery, and brave. Siren Call Siren of Freedom, come to me this time. I've followed your call through hours of corn fields. I flew friendless to a speck of land on this water planet. I've spent thousands in smoky gas driving away from four walls. Then every time I settle, I lose your vibrato trail and develop a fever. So I've disposed of every man to cool myself down. I've packed and disappeared in ritual. I fed only on options. But I'm tired of starving for you, lonely tease. I have too much I want to keep now. So come to me this time. Get off your rock and swim to my head to wash this panic off my brain. New American Century Along the river bankwhere molten lava flowsfar enough to coolto a steady stream of oil, I pan for thermite. Saturated to the thighs in Pearlized mud, we collect the sharp red chips they left behind. Among the brave, a person can calculate the piecesas they coagulate in barrels, building towards masses, heating to a flash in time -when we catch our fresh regret, holding it so close and focusedwe smell its pink mist breath - the droplets resting on our palatesuntil a new need fuels us to let it dropand we wait to teach ourselves again. Counting Electric Sheep Within iambic bone the hamsters runWithin their greased conundrum lightning comes Along a nerve to old projector wheelsWhich turn as ranting critics ravish reels And rush eight feet of prey nocturnal beastsWho wish for distance but will only reach The speed of sick sour lips who spit from prideAnd hate inside the night where pictures hide From common time and pleasant reason sleepsTo wake all breeds of beasts who will repeatOn screen the worst of movies worst of scenesWithin the carbon darkness far from sleepSynaptic noise relentlessly repeats Sibling Comfort For The Push Up Toy When the spring gets stuckfrom way too muchyou laugh at my head on the floor.You're not worried when you see my string.But I worry about EVERYTHINGbut trusting you. I guess it could look scary to a sane brain;the cackling of a chick going coo-coo -her wooden parts collapsed and in the wrong place.How can we glue her back together? Only you know I'm already stuck.So you just keep sitting next to me -twirling the strings, spinning my pieces, laughingbeside the crackling yielding.
