Exacting Clam

I am pleased to announce I have some new poetry published in Exacting Clam. The fourth edition of the print publication is available to learn about online and available to order in print. I am also excited to see Thomas Walton’s work alongside.

Sudden, a poem

The sparks that come off the welding wand. It’s a blade, no, it’s a unnamed device in this spire of memory. Memorial. Conscripts dotting a geography of hallways and nightmares. Around each blowing curtain in the breeze, and I remember when the water wasn’t bruised and green. Binaural affectation. The Greeks had it correctly transcendental. Tracers of pings, the audibly bluish kind. Blowfish of splinters of sound, and I am unable to escape playgrounds of

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Winter Treatment, a poem

Merged from Dirty Winter and Treatment. Part One I’m driving through rose-tinted mountains, a range flipped on the head, arranged their ruffles in blue painted lead, like silkscreen waves, like oceanic current, like temporal parallax, like sweet simmering paralysis, crucified stately, narcissist martyr, pressure cooker, liminal lands took her, they all dodge the bullet I’m coming home, a long blow through the tow’s line, 405 keeping bright, maniacal alive, arresting the guffaw ahh, lickety split

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Treatment, a poem

With Amiri Baraka and Auscultation Coming home, a long blow through the tow’s line, 405 keeping bright, maniacal alive, lit up that magneto cape, what a slight shape, arresting the guffa a, lickety split and we’re back to the raw merging West a bit, to the central pit of awe, above the inch, along the rim, found the itch, strum the ridge, flick of the gas guzzle tongue punk, it’s getting grim, light’s satin saturated and

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Dirty Winter, a poem

With Auscultation Dirty winter driving through rose-tinted mountains, flipped on head, the ruffles of the blue, silkscreen waves, oceanic current, temporal parallax paralysis, their mobbed in Ottawa, they’re mobbed on the Black Sea, crucified, stately, martyr, pressure cooker, liminal lands, Lithuania, dodge the bullet, retreat to Poland, trance today, gone tomorrow, the slow burn, glow in the dark warfare, Chernobyl bullet holes, I’m swaying, swaying, heat, monger along the deep lagoon, Blue too soon, thrown

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The Fiend of Leschi (Live Recording)

Excited to post my last performance of poetry alongside Jim O’Halloran and friends, at Kezira Cafe in Columbia City, Seattle. While the poem has nothing to do with its predecessor, Return to Rain, it is the spiritual successor. Note the details in the video’s description: The Fiend of Leschi, a poem performed by Greg Bem with the Jim O’Halloran Trio. Recorded at Kezira Restaurant in Columbia City, Seattle, on 11/19/21. Device used: Galaxy S21+. Edited

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