Selected Works, Adam Stutz

FIRE DOOR

SLOW FLIRTATION of a low diamond in the rough/the late-night lung 

suck/ disposition switch /learn these extremes & aggrieved buzz/stirred up

w/ a paucity of expectations/nectar removal onsite/can set the 

DISSONANT rhythms to work at the fingers/blowhard bludgeons/shield-

wise/slack JAWED/these chips of glass constitute a constellation/drawing 

up old word soup/recalling nerve endings of anger/or incoordination/in-

box stacking buzz/learned SCRIPT MEASURES REALIZE reaction time to 

chop up/ the perforations wear infections as high fashion/flutter/tear/the

demarcation of messages into the neutrality of grand gripes/to cross wind 

whipped/I knock ebbing daylight/slipping towards QUIET VOWELS/

the ORNAMENTS from my eyes/become the huddle of low-pressure 

systems/by and by the rain works into contemplation/washing all skins/

nervous is vogue/I CAN CRAFT in dirty striations/we are a breakdown 

condition/ hyperbole/anxiety attacks are a form of sediment compression/

TRANSACTION ORIENTED/I cut my carbon-dated psychology into 

fragments/diagnosis watching/down like flooring/a captive audience/

to break our lists down/like guests/all the slips of tongues/I wish I COULD 

TAKE BACK LOSS/we tremble through the day catching a rumination/

baked into the concrete/A SPLINTER in the side/walk on a sliver/I cover 

on my breaks in the dialogue/we share cheesing/loose WARPS BACK

& FORTH/beg the notion of a distorted narrative/re-combined/into 

pieces of my broken nail/attached to some grand elaborate scheme/

LOOK FOR A FIRE DOOR/cut out a window/a puzzle/climb over
the next line/& harry the nerves/give midday no shelter/& exhale

LOVE LIKE BROKEN TEETH

The low hanging questions of low hanging clouds/normal brooding to sew /a new whistle/into the bleating brakes of nervous drivers/the city frames its jaw/w/ a love like broken teeth/everyone offers critique/slip the conventions/kick over rocks/of nervous picking/into leaden news/the earth tries to swallow cities/seeking panaceas/cities are resilient/dark suit walking tours/I waffle on resilience/touching bone to shape/cities know tragedy/the bouquet of felicitations & grimaces/but remains resilient/a slow page turning/the engine grows stressed/it remains a complex organism/all of the hustles/blue bubble gray bubble blue bubble/I am unkempt & trying to remain professional/after a two-step altercation/twist into the shape of your argument/from this distance I levy an ambivalence/beautiful in the lingo/on the wings of a yellow moth/the electrocution of news/cutting the stale palette/the broken visages of strangers/the street laughs nervously/stinging the eyes/I melt a cough drop on my tongue/autumn makes a slow approach/seasons are now measured in violence

TENDER UNDERWEIGHT

Tenderness is underweight:        an imminent flop in these hands—
place the parts in a vase & rent a plot line of mercy           just add
a nervous hole punched  through a wall  &           let the fingers soak up    
their blue flaws—          appendages blind to near/dear  laughter
 
The ache is the last Friday before switching  off the sweet talk        (a slap 
across ambition    To draw bright lines for touch I’ll crush salt  three times 
& sanctify the couch w/ a vacuity          like falling  into  a dry well
 
I can’t find my deliberate manual for dumb shit    & my peacock exhibition 
exhausted years ago       These days all the months fill         w/ fire & fealty: 
spoiled performances     I’m not feeling the spirit—         I’m feeling
the maudlin tool of expiration                 crafted w/in my quiet bedroom
           
Be sympathy &  become a clap     a slow hobble     a midnight boulevard 
paved w/ spines     carved from fingernails & ephemera
To know this rawness  is to open a deteriorating  mouth: just try to mend
a  sunset so  the page can finally bruise— a damn to finally break open

MY SPASMS BECOME ME

I am a city burning at a distance in a headline        where secrets promise
to perch on the  windowsill        only to  be carried away by the current
of other whispers           This is a tragedy             of a tiny pissing contest 
(tiny is as tiny does)        like 79 cent bananas being as cruel
 
as a  rented memorial service      How lovely is our over-saturated 
community screaming from the haze of   bad contracts we smuggle in our 
pockets           To become aware is to walk the fine line of a wish burning slow—
distance/expectation—a last letter        looming in the recesses of a closet   
      
a past shadow (a signpost to an unfinished road     is an idle sweet whisper
A swindle studied/aware            Aim your ink stain like a starry-eyed 
hunger pang at a map of buttons         that could be a slew      arriving at arm’s 
length  soaked/delicious           in its moon glow carrying a sweet whisper
 
I have clipped my  late riser’s wings        & I have managed running 
judgments at a randomized pace of jealousy       from work
walking back the short ask          to the fundamental question of sleep
wrung out of heat light like                     the shower operating so yellow
 
my organs         toil & I become a carcass lying                 over a loveseat
We share this low horizon over   grieving photos &           split fingers—
(when can grief just be grief ?)        rather than cryptic &  unnecessary
like this old man’s pen offering a banter that’s aimed  at a wall during this 
season of catching fire      writhing            in no name—only heat /ash

SALTING MY EYE

This evening a sidewalk is peeling an orange in winter & my absence & vanity burn bright lines into my misgivings : I look for waste & dump noise into a cross-contamination of consonants performing hope like a billboard ultimately losing to the sun’s concerns : a thirsty green fealty—the end : I develop into a wick dreaming of  becoming a bouquet made to transport crude zeros & barbs to the threshold of a cutting rhetoric (transmissions) : Abbreviations btwn. bedrooms converting bad composition into conditional circuits : Trivial digits growl one-sided questions into the swallow of night—the light switches are  up-down/up-down/up-down/up-down/slur/dream nervous judgment & knock-knock laughter : Make good on heavy niceties nervous smiles  & veiled  prescriptions designed for the architecture           of a headache     placing a lien on teeth : An atrocity recipe kicked up in daylight in the wake of a passing bus & a slow scowl declaring the end of transactional rest : Like a  pastime slipping into a coma : Breathe into  an exit steeped in smoke &  the routine will land w/ a sting battered by loose identities in exchange for erratic annunciations  doling out dumb smiles & venerations to grow a seedling : A rose-colored  past burning up purpose  to breed lionization

Adam Stutz is the author of Transcript (Cooper Dillon Books, 2017), The Scales (White Stag Publishing, 2018), The Sham Tapestry (White Stag Publishing, 2024), and Compunctions + Thefts (White Stag Publishing, 2024). His work was recently shortlisted for the Capilano Review's 2023 Writing Contest, Writing in the Aftermath, and has appeared in various print and online publications including The Equalizer: Second Series, A Sharp Piece of Awesome, Prelude, Be About It, Deluge, Dum Dum Zine, The Pinch, Dodging the Rain, Where is the River, Dream Pop, Cover, Ghost Proposal, Columba Poetry, Only Good Poems, INKSOUNDS, Spectra Poets, Trilobite, and hush: a journal of noise. His work can also be found at https://stutzwrites.com. He currently resides in Los Angeles, CA.