Anaerobic Poems – M Forshage

One of the things introduced in our Object Beautician zine was the concept of “anaerobic poetry”. The theory is that withholding the breath while scouring the surrealist voice for interesting offerings might prompt a special urgency or dynamic to whatever short poem could be rattled off in that state.

Our friend M Forshage in Stockholm recently gave it a try, the results of which results we share below.

1
Seven spells of sausage rhymes
Automatically and intestine-wise
As if barking up a rare willow
One without the right kind of lianas and bare twigs

2
The insolent popstar
and his crew of battle squirrels
aimlessly through the milky void

3
Synchronise sadly
the breadcrumbs of inevitability
housing the future of death and other joys

4
Acclimatise the entire sorority
Make it migrate elsewhere
With several new songs
And whimpering flagpoles
And a dead rodent

5
Whenever a sad cat opens his trolley and the bad nostrils get their appetite satisfied our hands will keep shaking to salute the onslaught of birdrings

6
An intimate source of powerful negotiations is the dead strollers negating the countdown

7
Likewise, never asked you to perform this particular sample, odd as it is

8
My crossbow at the mercy of a thunderstorm and a bowl of sugar ne/

9
Defenestrate the essential countdown and make every consonant swallowed count as a feast of swift nests

10
Excentric into secrecy
the white foam of secrecy
exclusive formed by the moon
and its differences
all its differences



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