Category: Uncategorized
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THE STATE DOESN’T WANT ME TO FIST YOU BUT WE DO IT ANYWAYTHE STATE DOESN’T WANT ME TO FIST YOU BUT WE DO IT ANYWAYTHE STATE DOESN’T WANT ME TO FIST YOU BUT WE DO IT ANYWAYTHE STATE DOESN’T WANT ME TO FIST YOU BUT WE DO IT ANYWAY …
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What if we are just squares someone drew in the dirt with a stickWhat if what I don’t need is a beer gunAs the minutes tock so closely everAm I thinking of youYour chubby rabbitAnd your chubby rabbit’s boyfriendTalk to me about forcefieldsIn a minute I’ll have to leave somewhereAnd we’ll…
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It would be so intimate to show you my houseNo, it would be just hospitable.They do not know I am beautiful nowGlobe fatter and flakier Winter pea: I am upset I could not be with your child You get new to meYou get new-me to name every lineOn the topmost hill…
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Garland the beamsBlameless provisionsMuster reason swungFingerspun wicket / legsMalt wounds last lapLong hike unfriendedNever disdain your boatmanNo chance taxi gaitSolid by light, a gapIn me. Pipe up long ghostsChum corruption, organdieNot rubbish, cloth bellpullDuff same age picnic, tooBrief arousals all fizzNiche pisshound withoutWarning we shave allBurdens like ill gotten gainsWent…
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— from A-1982–published by Mercury Firs Not sure if you can buy this one yet…. maybe DM Ian? — By Jimin Seo đź‘Ť
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I followed the heart attackdown the grazing horse’s neck through topsoil and nematodesthrough worm holes and roots through underground riversthrough schools of blind fish and up like silent lightninginto the man’s useful groin it continued on its pathalong a hawk’s thermal sleep until it found its way downa weak breeze…
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— from the Summer 1951 Issue of ‘origin’ (Issue II?) — By Robert Creeley đź‘Ť
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after Francis Ponge Plumb the mausoleumUtter the installation of exigent queensLa ruche populaire is a speckled heartWarring & longingFor distempered appraisalsToday we’ve reached our nadirYou & IAprès deux après midisSpent under white tarpaulinsUnattended with a dish of olivesI am Soupault’s dedication to DelaunayA sulking compass in a frameOf shrouds of…
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My first friend was about the length of our hairBut that wasn’t my first crown of flowersMy first death was about theatricsBasically, the New York City BalletMy first boyfriend was about menPets, communitySomeone’s half-moon gaze trailing me homeSignaled a kind of subconsciousShared, brokenMy first cross-country move was about windowsMy interior…
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5:52: a pigeon with a leaf hat. Air raid signal at Target. Long-haired elders in camo. No, the other shade of camo. * Language pays it forward, I steal it back. Summer fog travels downwards, real estate upwards. The reason I forgot to call you: a kaleidoscope grinding care into…
Poetry Nightly 