the old words and adages arestale; and yetwe all blaze up, in unison,whenever there isa chance. one million rooms, foaming with m/f violent music; writing to panic attack hangoversand mythical cigerette smoke. they laytogether, in the afterhe came into the room with the snowflake-coldand she blazed up. twenty-five years later she fucksa different man, the… Continue reading poem: bad free verse attempting to explain
poem: party with the optimists
they were drinking fast confetti wine pinktaffeta hands they say do you consideranything sacred fuck that i sayfuck that and the dawn meltscity lights bombs my brastrap caught call me a taxi waithe says the cocaine still flush waityou were such a slut foridealism flares of art eventually i say lighting the cigerette shaky brightface… Continue reading poem: party with the optimists
poem: the battle of
again again again and howin muddy, half-trudged stepsregains the hold, the menfall— down— and i cannot complain. i have instead disorder, mindhell sparks, all orange-pillcontained. once, theydied in droves and now i die alone, on the upstairsbed my face againstthe shrills. you must know:he is not returning: heis not worth attention,deflection, call it crush— in… Continue reading poem: the battle of
poem: the queen’s gambit
midnight in the sixties, girl comesalive: narcotic smile between cigarette smoke and are you finished yet? oh, that is what it's supposedto feel like, don't stop. she is tight, squares, cocaine. madness in my blood like a mother,the psychosis hangingand fucking, dressed to drink,conquer, la femme fatale. the usual themes: what ami? what is family?… Continue reading poem: the queen’s gambit
writing: the holiday girl
not all of the following makes sense, really, but I'm publishing it anyway. call it "writing practice" and read at your own risk. "The meaning of literature" is something I think about often, especially after fucking, when my boyfriend has rolled away to stare at a book and I stare at the wall. I know… Continue reading writing: the holiday girl
poem: lady clane
woman who gracefully and sometimesgracelessly took us, an entirenation of squabbling super-market mums, plastic bags drooping sadlywith sunday roasts, potatoes readyto be pulled and plushed — and she sitsin front of the square tellycutting the vegetables and sometimes (shite!)her fingers, watching; lady clane ridesto the cathedral, smiling brightlyand shyly, lace lining her handsand skinny arms… Continue reading poem: lady clane
poem: for/against
to what degree are the romantics, the pin-addled girls in black/white deconstructedjumpsuit-jail-cell-dresses now allowedto take fruit, wine, a little foreign cheese— like the system,it is only half molded, they sayplayfully/carefully— out to the dregsof connecting countries:the border, very political, a greatgreen country best fitfor running hounds and sittingin tweed, reading, watching. you can smellit on… Continue reading poem: for/against
poem: the winter girl and the sunset boy
the winter has me wishingthat you and iwere still something; do you remember two years ago(two centuries of yesterday) i was desperate and drowningin idealism, in pacifiedanxiety, andglowing newintellectualism at midnight and dawnand also love poems, written for youmainly on the coffee datewe almost had:the old me, studying hard,too-hot latte in hot handscaffeine sparking slow… Continue reading poem: the winter girl and the sunset boy
poem: crying after a fight with my mother, twenty-twenty
in the autumn far-awayi read a portrait of the artist as a young manunder the trees, under the universityand i was notthe drama, the failure. waitingoutside the daycare, an after-somethingjob for the boring, earbuds and trite tragicmusic wrapped around my skull. i stayed very latein cafes, no-whip-cafe-mochaand scholarship questions, dreaminghopelessly and i — droppedthe history… Continue reading poem: crying after a fight with my mother, twenty-twenty
poem: all madness, no genius, pt. 1
two thousand 17;the aesthetic of this,it is like spring, the old suicide days, when the poemsdripped — no punctuation.music stuck spiral-likein my throat, the pulsing pulsingwonder: my chemical shitin the bathroom (before class)the animalism of no-onemeeting your eyes — I cannotwrite like thatanymore. The downsidesof friends, of making it. two thousand 19/20;remember the chemical swings,the… Continue reading poem: all madness, no genius, pt. 1
