The Daily Art Source

List of Books and other publications/ Bio

Matt Hill
PO Box 305
Ben Lomond, Ca 95005

Residing in the southern part of Northern California, Matt Hill is a sculptor, street poet, and fiction writer. His poetry, prose, and short fictions can be found on many Internet venues, including BlazeVox Books, Argotist ebooks, and Gradient Books.


Rouge Aurora, 1994 (chapbook)
Roxis, 1995 (chapbook)
Triune Override Tractatus, 1997 (chapbook)
The Cloud Reckoner, 2007 (poems)
Parataxis, 2008 (prose poems)
Dropping the Walls for a Tenuous Linkage, 2011 (poems)
A Western Exile, 2011 (prose poems)
The Beige Book, 2014 (a philosophico-poetic prose poem) 
Integral Standalones, (selected prose & poems) forthcoming

Work published in Journals and Magazines

Big Bridge 16 (NeoSurrealism); Brian Luca’s Illuminated Poetry Project, Book #5; The Chiron Review; Counterexample Poetics; COR; Empty Mirror; E.ratio; Juxta; 9th Street Laboratories; Local Nomad; Lost and Found Times; Mad Hat; On Barcelona; Orpheus Grid; Otoliths; Paraphilia; Perihelion; Shadows of the Future:The Argotist/ Otherstream Anthology; Sugar Mule; The Alterran Poetry Assemblage; The Miscreant; The Philadelphia Review of Books; The Schwibly; Talisman: A Journal of Poetics and Poetry; Thrice Fiction; and Truck. 

 Matt Hill

Outlandish Contrivance

Modern Sonnets

Copyright © 2015 Matt Hill

one strides with purpose when/as
walking beckons towards metaphor
feet of fire & hands of irony presage
any gain of trajectory by gathering space

original pedestrians traverse the scapes
at times fueled by an impetuous mobility
or by the forces of hidden irregularity by
those who perform random walk algorithms

perhaps through various forms of limited shuffling
the feet will move across the purity of crooked roads
along with what would be the difficulties of daily glory

an onward perambulatory feat done with feet

moving forward even if off-balanced at times
though terrains so filled with vapid architecture

the fangled fissures of fate flare then fade
many times it all comes down to the context
like when clouds are not willing or compliant
even when good news stays below the radar

while many particulars continue unresolved
as some await the arrival of some back music
& the securing of the late evening whiskey
a populace lives on in a stunned state of mind

fresh stalemates played to the collective guilt by
mostly assuming a high tolerance for wackiness
because it seems the untrue parts are what matter

in a nation probably doomed by not knowing it
dystopian cliches drive the daily deadend promos
while the far gods cry over the generalized thievery

brandishing might be the most potent of gestures
& one could flowchart the unclear impact of this
or it might just be a bunch of hooey grimly foisted
similar to a sky dispensing its wet promulgations

like a lively fist sold directly to the consumer face
a brand brandished by real gesticulated emphasis
could also be some credible empirical apparition
say by targeting the old school hedonists and such

even if gaming the algorithms is still done by brandish
while one manages to look like crap yet still feel great
or even coming armed with the sandwich of authority

yet the basics of pointlessness may not even apply
if any residual irony has just punched out & departed
& the scenarios are left with everything but the effect

empirically there may not be any immaculate space
as if objects can be defined by their surrounding beauty
but what would be the philosophical basis for nothing
if gravity’s linkage becomes some relativity of the damned?

translating reality can be a perilous thing
by deconstructing the inertia of objects etc
from the concrete to the abstract & back
any idolatry of former selves reigns supreme

sometimes there are no grounds for stopping & when
the hours of fear pile up into days of insurrection this
only adds to the mess with dark ratios of global inequity

with a display of the false hands of regime change
fallen leaders act like old bulls led out to slaughter
the global cost is what is paid for with our silence

surely life is more than random ink on the page
or more than blogging, flogging, & hotdogging
certainly more than guilt & faux money pursuits
or more than bending time for others fun & profit

life is about modern hygiene being back in style
it’s about one’s bushwacking towards redemption
or wisely using the veto pen to counter the idiocies
fundamentally it’s having the guts to question Everything

life is the Mother Bone we all chew on
in the unseen places loaded with contradiction
or in suburbs fraught with tragic ghosts of the past

many days lived through hard to ignore irony
as one gets the low down on the what’s up
by discerning life through its fierce nuances

somewhere between saturation & inertia
embedded in hours teeming with minutia
the residue of moments irretrievably lost
will disclose an exile’s acute moral dilemma

tempted to gaze homeward then walk away
or maybe write home to no one in particular
or sing melancholy songs & other deceptions
one can find life in the splendor of the gutters

inexplicably exiled in the contemporary ruins
taking the small steps that affect no one else
it just makes sense to reject the world’s advice

focused upon the necessary blood of survival
with rough lives lived in the existence margins
are cords of inclement risk that never get cut

eloquence via the pain rends a heavy heart
through this pain eloquence seeks its home
this when a sad fire lives in the grieving throat
as saving that fire runs along the edge of loss

future heralds conjecture about worlds to come
while a toll of emotions forms the future’s patina
damaging myth filled rhetorics are left far behind
if hope ever arrives by way of a soul emergency

life at times demands unraveling the lumpy mysteries
by often refusing to coddle those insistent chimeras
while many lucky shadows cushion the ruinous rubble

candid attainder with remarks made impertinently
stunned after getting hammered on the front pages
one can then flub the lines when rooting for the mess