the whole point of being a neurotic is you can't outwill the neurosis, the spine-handlingand splindling rises bright inside you,bathtub water fries circuts -- Hestia took the pieceout of her arm and spun it around in deft fingers to recalibrate it. the brain leeches intothe neck into the body outsourced as it alreadyis into handheld… Continue reading poem: sub specie aeternitatis
Tag: original free verse poetry
poem: end of year
wet sludge, and his face, and fingers -- are damp I am not the one who beats all the heads in, I am not the dregs -- stretchedout, across all my life -- it cannot always come back to this. skinis sloughing off, collects under his nails, gathers at the wrists andcongests into lines at… Continue reading poem: end of year
poem: surname
really, the world is a small thing -- I was an I seven years ago, now I am also an I: rutted littlehalf-done dreams, the newest iteration blastedthrough head, now I have someoneto tell about it. growing younger -- I swear I keep wanting oblivion: blasted down bytoo big force, fertility or death. taking an… Continue reading poem: surname
poem: incredible retelling of an otherwise normal saturday
Alyssa adjusts her jacket; tweed, tiehole, fresh out of normal bad-childhood nowhere, ready to differentiate between graduate programs whichoffer training -- paid for -- and those which, essentially making you an employee of the university -- stipend you, more or less, from here throughend of time, hoisted around the wet trees and the green-gray-bluewhich knocks… Continue reading poem: incredible retelling of an otherwise normal saturday
poem: lost in translation
I arrived in Tokyo very late there were no three-pound bags of cherries being sold in summer sunshine undertwenty-third and second street so instead I ate convenience store foodwith my hands under the haze and the lights dropped out the other actor wouldn't accommodate me so I turned inwards and lookedat myself under the three-track… Continue reading poem: lost in translation
poem: April Is The Cruelest Month
bite off neurosis, This Time I'll Make It -- standingat the front of the check-out line, lime kombucha mozzarellasome kinda Raw, this Time i'll make it -- keeping timeinside yourself, inside your chest, counting ribsthe boss is not your mother she is not your father she isnot coming to get you in the divorce: why… Continue reading poem: April Is The Cruelest Month
poem: headcold
another pink flower day, late afternoon sun slat intothe blinds, weekend of surreality, can't get back my stateof grace -- another kind of bride, anotherkind of waiting. the supplements and gelatin cost toomuch, he has a headache and doesn't wantit, I need a kidney ultrasound before thingscan be knit together. stagnant eternal present until --… Continue reading poem: headcold
5: poem: heat peach fable
5: “sunburn”30 days/poetry deep seeded-downward parts, the rhythm cut on your tonguelike a pit. white-draped girls on porches and the boys, thin smokestacksgoing up, standing on their bikes and racing past: gnats rushedover in a gully of time, getting up again, five or seven yearslater and being too tall to stand: the girls blush, secretenothing-fluids,… Continue reading 5: poem: heat peach fable
poem: summer in the turn
rot-hot, cunt-turned girl in black leather -- learnJapanese! (it's the chorus), turned heel into stage and shudderingout again, a million men/girls jumping to her -- chorus: learnto speak, learn to sing, tear my heart, eat me up, comealive, cometrails in sky -- head thrown back, hair long andshot up with light, shotgun shells of scatteredlight… Continue reading poem: summer in the turn
3: poem: Anthony
3: "set up for failure"30 days/poetry Anthony is wanting to do better — this time, he'll writethe novel, take apart his hand and sell it, two-pace; but who can function as muse, eternally pregnate the idea andwatch it birth — bear with me here, it's some threadim getting from the Romantics. Anthony explains it, long… Continue reading 3: poem: Anthony
the last pavilion 