there's a messy verge -- to conduct through the past lush/heatand moans against the chair, how much reanimates, how muchcomes into me, felt again -- now the narrative has softened, we makeplans to drive out of town and drink tonight, ice creampints; somenight the new-word in my lap will remake -- division of time, i… Continue reading poem: ship of theseus
poem: the ick after “big red son”
in faraway -- two-and-half-highway drive, the Californiaheat de-panels into California porn, sitting in summer lightlace tanktop and gold Cross/Saint medallion, I am kept --meeting the underworld only through the clay feet ofonce glamorous men, now revealed to be down in the moral yuck, he says the sexualization of real life versus actual real life, I… Continue reading poem: the ick after “big red son”
poem: rally
the far night and far torches, the kept men let -- out --she made circles in the outskirts, she had debated between the optics ofskirt/pants. she finally decided on convenience; the baby wasthe curve inside cargo-pants, his little fingers, china-spindles, like under-eyelid sleep; heturns and waits inside her, for -- brave new world, his profileis… Continue reading poem: rally
poem: parasocialite
unread book, brought to coffee shop as SkinTrophy; the flies light-breeze around my face, they smelldeath thin-made around my potential. i compromise, say i will read it on the road-trip, tomorrow, when we go hurtling through more of California looking to get married. but they knowI am lying; the summer-heat sucks me, wet-mouth,like a friend:… Continue reading poem: parasocialite
poem: sensual objects, part two
she found him laying, curled upon his ownfragmented bits -- protestanting loneliness, denying denyinga conspiracy of melted, mutedfeeling -- she said i know, you are a warm bodyin the morning, your sadness adrift and pulled back, tidebefore the shores, before the sun. she said i have worn down porn into cortisol paths and I don't… Continue reading poem: sensual objects, part two
poem: (trying) to read at work
boy on the pink-red diving board -- vile men lined up in chairs --"has it gotten any better up here?"we are not past the point of logical digression; at leastwe are not in the rubix-cubicle-grey. changing the ebookinterface to make Difference (knowledge is an emptyhouse)-- i go on long walks afterwork, through the work sunshine… Continue reading poem: (trying) to read at work
poem: vainglory
as one forgettable moment he was instead boxed upand carried into the currents of many weeks, in which the fear of first lovehad me swept like a rag alongthe Mormon suburban streets, at dusk, my heart at cardio-tempo, what if what if what -- he is a rebound, I am wicked. the quickness kept the… Continue reading poem: vainglory
poem: the sensual object as art rather than self-identification
beneath, inside, around her teeth - release a bloody sphere. how to interact with the object of desire, with sex as containedbut extraneous feeling, without putting it backonto the self. anon/ette, she watches it. the half of the film, grafted onto sleepy haze, becomesa tainted sunshine thing, carried aroundfor its potential - scraped away its… Continue reading poem: the sensual object as art rather than self-identification
poem: dates as sugar substitute
the mimed inadequacy - I would rather my motherheave me over the hilt. how much is forgiven - while I, in chosen purgatory, readdirty books - in the spirit of the literary and otherself-justifying ghouls. is the beauty the text itselfor the object the text makes andsurrounds - does one eclipse the other. how did… Continue reading poem: dates as sugar substitute
poem: Ash Wednesday
recovered anomaly, the zine has never been moredead. histrionic contrarian - she has recently been upsetwhenever she is located, discovered,identified. high in neuroticism and agreeableness - I am gladi do not live inside your head. we have all beenoverexposed to personality, if i am differentI am cursed - if i am the same - i… Continue reading poem: Ash Wednesday
the last pavilion 