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
Tag: art
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
poem: bad riddance
she is beautiful and so I don't believe that shehas suffered. now old memories chase me in suddensmacking throat-openers, like red orangeson a table, in a blue bowl -- as I am between ruins. like an old woman, I pick themapart, blood stains under my tongue. now, writing, nothing comes to me to be described:… Continue reading poem: bad riddance
poem: twenty-twenty-four
in the space of the dream i am literate - he holds my head in his hands and wedance. the book coming down like rainstormand my vulva washed out. when i am pregnant, i will finally finish something, somethinglong and important. i will say something about itand the baby will laugh.
poem: song lyrics
i listened to marina & the diamonds before, in frosted hell, i found the corresponding subculture -- i curled in the in-betweensmall bed, not in a room but a corridor and you knowi think you could be right that purgatory isphenomenological or at least our concept of it, is -- anyway i was stripped out to… Continue reading poem: song lyrics
writing: the narcissism of small footnotes
The images and sonic blur that the book gave her lined up with her ideal place to live: blue-green, pine trees, little pockets of mud and permanent nostalgia so heavy in the air that people were always forming bands to understand the place or they understood it too much and were trying to get the… Continue reading writing: the narcissism of small footnotes
poem: swan song for november
the whole bedrock for our silly little post-renaissance project is underground; the women with longsilver hair construction vest gray/blue tennisshoes: I can imagine her as anythingelse. in linen and singing. please rip me open and countmy ribcage, there is an maladjusted chromosome there isa space. yesternight i was listening to the cranberries and i remembered… Continue reading poem: swan song for november
the last pavilion 