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
Tag: original free verse poetry
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: he likely would have found me by chance and declared me a talented writer
her farce was weirdly unenviable; she said -- this man, he would find little savior/fellow strugglerfellow bearer of what is what isand then (camera wink) isnt it so ironic to askwhat is, when we are standing here, and weknow. he would find this inme. i write my manifesto, i slug along to meetings with nothing… Continue reading poem: he likely would have found me by chance and declared me a talented writer
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
poem: do not ask me to eat when i am not hungry
in the room where the husband did not diethe third wife sits, splays, lacerated -- the birds are thick this time of year. I can feel the Feeling comeand I can feel the healing, but it is easier to curl into it. take this pain, this wanting tobe lacerated: and understand, this is where the… Continue reading poem: do not ask me to eat when i am not hungry
poem: geoff rickly only made it on the streets
television was his anti-hero; a thousand suicides is tolerable -- talent is its own expectation. sweaty brown-dimthrashing basement, my girlfriend says you smashed her sidewaysinto the makeshift stage and I licked the pale red cutson her shoulder - clean, her head thrown back and zombie hoteyemakeup, the malaise shaking shaking all of usout the bass… Continue reading poem: geoff rickly only made it on the streets
poem: purgatory
a long time ago, there was surety - i was god, i metanother god; he was wayward future kingholder in palms of myeventual, watery breaking - we arguedin smoke-sweat places about theology and whetherhistory is a stasis, is therea retvrn. he liked girls crouched over theirover-abstracted intellectual, embroidery-squaresmall experience. he fought with me, i fought… Continue reading poem: purgatory
poem: it is finally 80 degrees in october
little age of shame the wetness carries in the day-- i will return i will wear themark of the water, low hung frayed tee-shirt tied up, over tight bodyi now dig back into -- this bohemian stylethis little dark age, fallis dead: rise rise eternal heat. i can talk in French now about abstractthings i… Continue reading poem: it is finally 80 degrees in october
poem: wealth described as scarcity of time (october)
famine described as material overload. the year of pain and pleasure 2023 described as the definitiveend of the American Empire, is oddly comforting. raise your children in the frothingand then let them go. now you can succinctly say, if you do not reproduce, trans-humanismhas won, or you can reference my highschool poetrywhich -- savior complex… Continue reading poem: wealth described as scarcity of time (october)
the last pavilion 