GODDAMNIT, I FEEL LIKE JULIA FERRER

1

among the drowning petroglyphs
my professional wafer cookies
a torch would decorate their grease dream

but when I see them in the cauldron
the shivering little Chechnyans

I dare to sniff them

2

do you see how cinnamon falls on the road
a limousine and a dreidel
kinky

green on green undergarments
ennui eclipsing pretend owls
nocturnally

I want a manatee or a woman
to look egregiously at one square
plastic me

3

adoring moped
a soda with wispy hair

and I kept gloating

there is torment in charm
a roach is the presence of here

I hissed at the daybed

hysterical doric column
but I pissed in the wisteria

which way are the monsters

4

a watch with blue chain
with a pulse of red beef
young lawless

and Westron wind breathing sex 
that spiral of dust
and governmentlessness
and even rewinding mist

bubbled rings
around the trophy of lies

a rock
and a rock

5

the menace has ended
to force some dark
that thing shuffled off
imagining silurian resurrection

I’m alive in a stringy sun
in the glass Eden
of her reach

the massive and stiff
offensive omen
that begets a fragile history
when zero becomes a fiction

and a world sets fire
to versatile mushroom semantics
when zero becomes a fiction

and love is a sea

6

dust and the freshness it is
would upset the vowels

turning on the lava of scarcity
then eating through energy

the innocuous bile of 
gems
a priest of purple, shared manure

always logotypical
to the party girls
of the backdoor paregoric

triple leprechauns
triple leprechauns
triple leprechauns

the defecating yawn
forgets bedrooms and lies about the
uneventful

which isn’t wet
and you’re gone

7

a portal a day
a sandcastle in drag
yew
yin
bigamy yes
wolf smile and metallurgy
and mice McBlush

and truly in memory of me
fervently furred

to forge the glacial brain
to misstate one dream

to arbitrate
to ass
ass
ass

a portal a day
a psychedelic tramp

8

where’re you going?—they said to me— but there are green masters
who never know the mind

simple blood of white drawers, carry me off

and it was a mai tai

sealed beneath my head
I was sweating policemanly
into a tampon

the Cinderella belt
it rained for weeks

and mesmerised in the hotel lobby
the communists want all of me

that gorilla napkin

these porpoise faeces 
the spines of my neighbours
blue December of divorced guys
sucking on the blue stream of death
in a cosmic scammer ring
outlier bison teeth
the people are bullshit

I was born again from the sea foam

that gorilla napkin again

in only two weeks

the green maximum
the blank trinity of the void
lovers
the red was consummated
the red rooster within me
there it is

simple butt of white source
caring meatloaf
and to a liverwurst I would return
all was in INTERNAL BLOOM

why not dye my hair
if my wife was really Roman
if my sister horse
caring meatloaf above a squirrel

why not dye my hair
among the siren’s willow
washing a secret tear
flying through the cornfields

the freeing of a boy mutated
who called lovingly to me

Where do you begin?—they open-sesame’d—but there are genitals
I never keyed the maid’s car


LOSARC RAAL is a writer and editor originally from Varna, Bulgaria. He was tyrant over the controversial poetry and arts journal NOMATERIALISM (2020–2022). He is the author of the chapbooks: [SELF-SELECTIONS] (Trainwreck Press, 2021), The Poetry of Carlux Carluxlax (Reverse Catfish, 2022), and The Adverse Keys (Spiral Editions, 2022). A pamphlet, Dead or Alive (The Creative Writing Department), was also published in 2022. His first full-length book, NO MATERIAL, was published by Black Sun Lit in 2023. A poetry collection, The Pact of Non Self, is forthcoming from NEW Books in 2024. He has lived in Brooklyn, Greece, Argentina, and Saudi Arabia, and he currently resides with his wife and sons in Chula Vista, CA. Hit him at losarcraal@gmail.com or Instagram @nomaterial_ism.