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Author Bio

 

“Matthew Kosak is an award winning author. He has received over a $1 million prize for his medical non-fiction. He now writes fiction and poetry, but stays connected to the research world as an independent contractor. His other interests are making indie films.”

 

 

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Using Font In Your Favor

 by Matthew Kenneth Kosak

 

Front desk: I’m sorry we can’t publish something that’s already been published.

Me: Really?

Front desk: Yes truly sorry, they should have told you that before you showed it to the F’n WORLD.

Me: F’n?

Front desk: Excuse me?

You said F’n World

No I didn’t. I burped before I said world, it was an uhun sound, you know like a hiccup, you’re hearing shit.

……

Uhhh…Question.

Yes?

Do you print in green or black?

Black of course. (odd look)

There you have it. Problem solved. I print all of my blogs in green. It’s never been printed in black before.

Pause.

Well,… (chewing gum rapidly) we don’t accept unpublished authors.

But I thought you just said that I was already published? So which is it, am I published or not?

Pause. 

Ok, we’ll run it. But don’t think you’re one of THOSE authors. I imagined her looking past her desk toward the waiting room. It was mostly empty, but in its day.. I presumed it was full of THOSE authors.

How do I get to be one of them? (I walk into the trap)

You can’t be one of them. They are who they are and that’s all that they are ever going to be. If they weren’t who they are they wouldn’t be anybody, you see, they’d be unknowns, like you!

I think you might be mixing metaphors.  

Your father’s name wouldn’t be Minos by chance?

…his dame married a bull?

Excuse me?

Never mind.

Are you sayin’ I’m full of bull?

No, not exactly, but a DNA test would likely confirm it, just to be sure.

 

 

Copyright © 2013 by Matthew Kenneth Kosak

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The Laundry Cycle

by Matthew Kenneth Kosak

 

He watches the red tumble into white-

The ancient man waits inside the laundry room of an ancient city.

There is a nagging doubt that creeps into his face. I can see this in how he holds his shoulders,

They are nor sharp but rounded by the ages.

He leans forward in his chair towards the maelstrom of churning water,  churning panic, silent alarm,

Something lingers in the thick air above the machines. Mildewed old paint and
pulpy metallic,  newsprint ink. Cheap perfumes and ‘The Clean’, that can’t, even in its permenance,  return the soils of the past weighing
heavily. Do stains have gravity to them? (If they are not removed in time?)

The day of yore will not be freed in all this churning. All these circles that
must be completed,  circumspect in the
wandering. Those loose hands in the plastic ring,  we obey

The circle of life

The spinning confusion

The returning questions

Dirty clean dirty clean

The laundry cycle

Breath in breathe out

And watch the yellow crescent slide along the prickly slope of a pine- come parallel with the road, outside the glass door.

Something catches in his eye,

A spec of unresolved dirt lodging itself upon the orb, biting in.  A whiff of cheap perfume seems to drift in a
world in itself. The door chimes, a paper rises to greet the wind like an eager pet.

The tumbling continues.

 

 

Copyright © 2012 Matthew Kenneth Kosak

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It Should Not Give Me Much Concern

by Matthew Kenneth Kosak

 

It should not give me much concern
To watch the time drain away
Like so much indifference
Would I not expect it any other way?
 
A usurer cannot own such rights!

A usurer cannot own such nights!
 
It melts and covers over my body, the great green screen like green chlorophyll taken from a million leaves of trees that dot the hill.
 
And I lean forward into the space, 

A password prods at my elbow
like an eager bichon poodle pup.

Where should we go today?
Where should we go tomorrow?

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The Offshore Candidate

by Matthew Kenneth Kosak

 

“Can you see I’m smiling? Of course’ I’m smiling

That’s because this hour my stocks increased!

And I showed up and told lies, that all were liking!

I’m smiling, yes, though my character’s deceased.

 

Can you see I’m smiling? Why of course’ I’m smiling

Cause’ I look good on TV, I can talk, I can debate

And my opponent envies my offshore accounting

That’s because it’s ‘legitimate rape.’

 

My assets are protected. No! Not the one’s here!

I wouldn’t invest it in this company

I mean Country; where the entitled ones steer

I won’t invest here, I prefer theocracy.

 

I say, forget the forty seven percent!

But yes, Oh yes! I’m qualified for president.”

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Words Are Like Caves

by Matthew Kenneth Kosak

This is an excerpt from  “Caves, Elements, DNA, and things about Novels”

 

‘Many people don’t know that  you can climb into words

and knock around inside them with a rock hammer.

They’re like  caves. And you might find things written on their walls,

ancient ideas, or maybe even a vein of gold.

Or perhaps a rough piece of glass which is not really glass,

but is natural diamond.’

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These Disturbed Pentacostal Mornings

By Matthew Kenneth Kosak

A glint of it, emerging from some ordinary circumstances.
Perhaps it is only a bird perched on a bare branch beneath gray skies in early March.
(A cloud.) A tattered sheet of a rag; water stained and caught by its corner on the tip of a distant peak.

And stroll through these pleasures, unfolding; headlong, unflinchingly.
There is nothing here to presume.
The matter at hand, is unchanged by it.
The vagaries of decision are not yet a substance, not yet formed in the nascent will of the unborn sun.
(Something is lying, a seed cloud ‘neath haystacks, hovering in the moist breath, a roiling sea washes forth to bite your feet. Hissing in retreat.)

I have seen them, these disturbed, pentacostal mornings,
when in the backdrop to a road, to a silent street,
a painting flew out a window
And was ripped to shreds,
the color bleeding, melting.

You have stirred me in a lifetime spanned of hours.
Met my oblivion, removed it from me with your surgery, an avuncular glance.
I did not wake you as I left,
The man at the cafe (you mentioned before) I think might be your dream, the coffee too in his hand..coming like a force towards you..
The cream, the white shirt off his back
Stirred now, to wet your lips.

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