this is the ghost. sitting with my tongue sour and pressed against my teeth; writing five bad essay sentences and stopping to stare out the inside window. how the hell do people have so many friends? this is the ghost. no longer can I tell if I was in love with the symbol, with the… Continue reading poem: ghost
Tag: orginal poetry
poem: war + peace, scarlett o’hara, plato (& her)
I have known too much to be secure in what I have known. Even I am sick of this narrative: here is the danger-warning, so listen: rewriting the narrative inside your head so that what happened happened differently is (please don't make me finish this face this). long sigh, and tucking the hair behind my… Continue reading poem: war + peace, scarlett o’hara, plato (& her)
poem: it will not change the fact
It will not change the fact that I Like you and I think you’re brilliant and I read Your article, and you were flippant But there was an Emotional core and I felt you inside the automated print I Felt you And since then, since I have read that, I Cannot properly leave you because… Continue reading poem: it will not change the fact
poem: a dead blog
definition: a dead blog. as this platform has been since the publication of this poem. i have no proof but a strong terrible feeling. i guess i thought art was supposed to be controversial and say the unsayable things. 2018: don't bother with revolution unless your manifesto is politically-correct.
poem: c++ [i do not write love poems anymore]
#include <iostream> i will just rewrite things nicely inside me and rewire the currents and de-bug the code so that int main () { he was not my second love or the first boy he was just he was just endl; he was nothing. he was a flux of my self-projection and a tightly labeled… Continue reading poem: c++ [i do not write love poems anymore]
poem: all this is [now] redundant
everytime i hear footsteps i think it is [him] but i look up and of course i am wrong he does not belong to me [anymore] so why am i waiting for him to come back to me. there is too much grey in tiled hearts i am just bored i am a female anomaly… Continue reading poem: all this is [now] redundant
poem: this will probably offend you (i’m not sorry)
i would be brilliant at being victorian, even as i would hate it but at least then the war cries of women (western, privileged women) would make sense. as it is, i am the artist looking stupidly (they say) to the wrong political direction and for me life comes before a maligned humanist choice. new… Continue reading poem: this will probably offend you (i’m not sorry)
poem: friday, thick white fog
why do i collect these broken odd boys, like beads on a long string with the fraying end liaisoned to myself, and my very desperate romanticism. i, who am intent on saving them all, one by one. it is a pity that they are human too with an agency that is rational and beyond me
poem: what isn’t polite but is poetic
there is a strange boy just across from me and if the universe was titled the other direction the stars would fall drunkenly in our laps and then drip out of our too-small reach, their dying tails in my grey sweater and his wrinkled shirts. i think there is something fundamentally wrong with this boy… Continue reading poem: what isn’t polite but is poetic
poem: the fiction, after
i intend to make the most of this heartbreak and to see your shadowed face slipping by in every man who walks briskly through the rain and to see you in every false memory and to see you laying naked next to me with our hands between the cigarette smoke and then later the door… Continue reading poem: the fiction, after
the last pavilion 