if his mother knew he thought the floors were dirtyI would kill myself; far away from the center of the earth I amalways drawn back to New York. there is a "desperate idealism" in the indiemusic of the early 2010s that I would like to trademark, despitethe to-do list I am reading about the "fragmented… Continue reading poem: “The shift in my reality was quite stark,” she says. “There was a lot of emotion.”
Tag: original free verse poetry
poem: no longer can i sense the best end to a poem
loneliness was the through-line, the resurrection, the dioceses -- i ambowled over by it, i let it crouch in my mouth and reconsider: phallic anime hands in the night, little boys raping me! loneliness wasthe sick dark slick of imagining and the curtain-line of red cut (but never, never) down the blue delta of veins… Continue reading poem: no longer can i sense the best end to a poem
day 4: dear stranger who came true
thirty days of poetryprompt: a letter to your favorite person you found me in the dream of the internet, ate my wires -- spit them outate them again. you are the blue hazy hope of the old poems, now wheni am held -- figure one: highschool girl who would have walked down the razedheads of… Continue reading day 4: dear stranger who came true
poem: little russia (reborn, reborn)
claire takes the window in mouthmeal-pieces; winged eyes, she waitsfor the descent. he comes home late at night and dissolves -- curled intothe pillow (like it is a woman) reading his phone at 4 a.m. sitting in the eye of the land andthe invisible child stirs in her stomach. in her dreams she is rapedand… Continue reading poem: little russia (reborn, reborn)
day 3: beautiful world, where are you
thirty days of poetryprompt: how do i feel at the moment little failing housewife, hunger hurts. these are not poems butday 1, day 2, day 3. in her latest novel sally rooney writes elegies for "beauty" in the end days of a civilization; she, as a marxist, views its death asbeing tied to the capitalistic… Continue reading day 3: beautiful world, where are you
day 2: “advertisement for a wife, brown hair and large nose”
thirty days of poetryprompt: your hair color half the face in the mirror, with this tooth-drainedanti-composure, is vampiric: he says if you get this job we willbe almost at 100k a year, for the household. they are swinging on her chestin two large moons; the female breasts can often appear larger the firsttwo weeks of… Continue reading day 2: “advertisement for a wife, brown hair and large nose”
day 1: the other option is to try to conjure powerful emotions (but not feelings)
thirty days of poetryprompt: favorite weather usually it was not the heat -- last summer was a summer of new music and new feeling, which is rare. how is this -- followed, or evenimproved upon. washed in the carcass of current weather, the desertwaits. it sits in a wide circle and observes. eight dollars in… Continue reading day 1: the other option is to try to conjure powerful emotions (but not feelings)
poem: lately i have been thinking about heat
and the way the desert, as an idea,sits apart and reacts to you. it is watching to see if you will make it out alive. or if you are one of the dead girls strungup first economically and then aggressively or if you arethe red stain left across the hands and thealtar. as long as… Continue reading poem: lately i have been thinking about heat
poem: the sense of reading a Japanese novel.
the spangled aspect of things, the clench which will -- always be withme, laying too long in bed too much a half hour, the ocean madand white with spray on the beach -- always in myhead. when we walked on the marina in the salt-air I thought, this isa place I could live. the light… Continue reading poem: the sense of reading a Japanese novel.
poem: venus in a dirty bedroom
why is it so hard to sit down & work! but the logician goes mad faster than the poet,the logician wants to fit heaven into his head. i believe i read that on twitter, sitting alsoin a cafe in tight yoga pants. and my cute little ass! can you really call mean incel with an… Continue reading poem: venus in a dirty bedroom
the last pavilion 