fall is saint-saëns, it is slipping offsilk dresses and leather gloves,hands cut on the dashboardand hair mussed,leaving her body like curtainshung over the seat—his tongue spiced,her cigarette sparking, sexcut and served cold;the air is brimmingthe music rimming up—i counted your sallow face in the crowdthe day i left,over the top,for glory and saint george andall… Continue reading poem: tragedy to introduction and rondo capriccioso
Tag: poetry blog
poem: repressions
the boys haveall gone; the city lightsswallow, the girl curledin wine dropletsand drained out— lastsupper, last chance. she has her shoulder-blades bare, she is waitingwe are allwaiting—where are the boyswith the black smilesready to devour my face;i have reflectionsin the alcohol glass, thisis modernity: i and i and iagain, eternal and gloamingand waiting alone.
life update: should i life update?
first of all, thank you all so much for 100 followers! in return, i promise (ahem) a more regular posting schedule. onto the main item: i know this sounds pathetic, but i'm asking genuinely: would anyone be interested in reading actual things about my life — written in, you know, that elusive narrative voice and… Continue reading life update: should i life update?
poem: emo song where the boy saves the girl, actually
alternatively titled: "buffy, season six" i am New York in the window,i am Paris in the glass.can you find me, i amlaughing—can you find me,i won’t last.cities in the stardustmake shit inside my head,can i sleep with Prague?with the adolescent-dead?the boys are saving nothingthe boys are going madi am just an illnesspathetic, never had.can you… Continue reading poem: emo song where the boy saves the girl, actually
poem: phone call with my sister
my heart is a hole,the picket fence tornup and stabbed through,the thief leapingfrom the window, holding—the I, the past,my old myself. whydo normal words not fitin my mouth, their edgessharp and snapping—the camera catchingthe stripping, and Ithe old, new girlstanding naked by the sill.
poem: pathology
something inside medoes not wantto get better. i am violently addictedto my own self-destruction.
poem(s): split
boy in his head she is a woman I knew, when I was younger. she starts and stops— like porn dissolving, reloading into a face like Iceland, two eyes, two fishes swimming into my mouth— reloading their shaking pupils. when you tip your neck, I would like to bite the wet skin. - - -… Continue reading poem(s): split
poem: twisted
published also in one hand clapping magazine, in altered form if you put my face into wet cementit would not leavedefining marks. my shoes squeak lolita lolita lolita after i visit my father;walking across town makes towninto thin manga lines,the people slipping into hotpencil shapes and his thumbprintskeeping close watchon my ankles, on the young… Continue reading poem: twisted
life update: it’s summer (yay?) and i’m writing again
Hello everyone! My apologies, first of all, for my rather long absence from this blog. I am currently at home from university, thanks to the grand you-know-what, and I haven’t been feeling particularly inspired lately. But I plan to spend the rest of the summer getting back into poetry; I hope to write a poem… Continue reading life update: it’s summer (yay?) and i’m writing again
poem: the pandemic is us
she is waiting at an inner-city line the bus pulls up blood-red, it is weeping corpses the bodies are old personas, old dissected diagrams of the same girl: she is ambition, desperation, romanticism. but now— she is washing and washing her hands trying not to be something she is not, trying to find the small… Continue reading poem: the pandemic is us
the last pavilion 