(not quite) a literary journal


3 poems by DM Rice

One Moment on Twitter

   Lacan Sans Contexte
                                     You are an element
                                      of the ceremonial

  the big large
                      I’m just too
                      just cuz a lizard
                      was too dumb
                      doesn’t mean it
                      deserved to die

   dank o’hara
                     sonic is trans
                     he has a dead
                     name no one knows

Mining for Pyramids

           it’s lonely at the top

       burst from the ground like athena
           from zeus’s skull, whole, corporeal
       , bodies in plaster monuments of the undying
     , platonic discordances of form, sparrows all 
         the way to corpus dilecti, pulled from the earth
       as being : being being as the earth pulled from corpus
       dilecti, all sparrows of form, platonic discordances
          of the undying, bodies in plaster, corporeal, whole
        like zeus from athena’s skull, ground from the burst

    that leaves earth-mother gaping,    alone

A Question of Canon

lily rose
pad of the pond 
gardenia, beyond juts
of onyx, measured time
midwestern diets of iodine 
lye          carry  snakes
in                                    my
         c  a  n  y  o  n  
 overlooking carved figures
   that breathe the name
hinterland black earth
obsession,  reeds of
the marsh orchestral
crickets hackneyed
with experience a
   restless ecstasy

hiding behind the pews
of the jesuitenkirche
with nietzsche as
the priests lock
the doors we 
attend to a 
holy ritual
enacting the resurrection of god

the long and countless course of time
revealing what is hidden then shrouding
what’s revealed

waking up beside proust
at la reserve, teeth still
chattering as the red 
breasted bellhop arrives
with a glimmering silver

nothing is beyond expectation
the strongest oath can be trampled 
as easily as the mightiest heart

stealing kisses from frank o’hara
at the very boring cocktail party
in chelsea, if only to shut him up
about the inevitability of refinement
moving my legs into his, smoothing 
my fingers against the marble round
of his waist

mine own heart was resolute once
though it has been softened by this woman’s word 
like iron in the hands of a blacksmith

floating among the clouds with Franz K.
kneading our hands as we discuss our suffering
and how it is pale and impotent
in the face of the suffering we’ve caused

it pains me to imagine
my son an orphan
my wife a widow
at the mercy of my enemies

sitting in the bath, alone
apollinaire, myself, together
sitting in the bath, solitude
behind the well-meaning joke
‘You are not here!’
‘No, you are not here!’
I am not?’
You are not!’‘The tub is empty!’
‘Emptiness is everything!’

and now I must go where I belong
please, listen and know that even if fate
is against me now, I will soon be freed of this

Tip Jar
by DM Rice

by DM Rice

dm rice, poetrySybil Journal