oh! alyosha alyosha why do you insist on the sitting, the side-lining, the great country of thisnothingness has been brought down to you; cup it in the palms of your hands, cup it! I drank russia like an after-party, the red spilledall over my dress, my little virgin legs, my throat always clenching --up! --… Continue reading poem: the brothers karamazov. pt. 1 – fields.
cassandra has her hair in muse of delphi dressed-downedglam -- curls, and a red scarf. she is reading pasternak. my grandmother had her ecstasy moment when princessDi died -- she called my mother for the first time in twenty-five years, and did not apologize, but criedover the phone. I listened from the hallway. I was… Continue reading poem: love letter to cassandra, 1997
the christmas tree divorced in the window, the ce n'est pas real tree -- she is wearing a red sweater, the thread caughtat the edge of her neck, the cotton peter-pan collar. when she coughs the spit rides up her throat in a divorced ball and he, watching, imagines taking it out, colliding it, marrying… Continue reading poem: ‘muse’
australian shepherd, destroyer of worlds & (stuffed) lambs little sentinel, keeping watch over the sun-bent deckwith her ears pressed back. the whole of the world isbehind her — myself, typing. my sisters painting and my mother, hanging the blue-whorled swedish plates. all of us, her little women. she was bornin larger skies — hung over the… Continue reading poem: molly
the little misty furs inside my mouth, drawinga blood line; I was once somebody, somebody -- now I am on the breath, the knife-point, of obscurity. the lavender light, in the evenings, crouchedlike a ghoul at the windows, like a dead hamlet girl, pre-raphaelite flowers in her sticky hair. I could, but cannot -- write… Continue reading poem: poetry submissions
i thank God for internet aesthetics, that i am able to remake myself in so many, livid, anthologies -- the tide comes like a cusp over my breasts, but it is just my hands, clutching myself, seeing/comparing the male freedomswimming, angrily, through my eyes and then -- thesecold small breasts. i sat in a cafe,… Continue reading poem: outline / satire / art
or: "aesthetic irl"thirty day poetry challengeday 09– ‘goals‘ the plead tweed coats, manufactured in England or Bangladesh, and ink-on-fingers, cigarettes. leaves Rattling againstthe gothic, heavy windows because what else? /how do I describe James Joyceand Virginia Wolf: like readingemotions. reading the old novels, in cafes(because what else?); the middle-class, they kept writingabout God, now we… Continue reading poem: I could die? a footnote?
girl driving home in a beat-uptoyota with the bare legs of spidermen draped overthe cut glass of her open holes, listeningto hey ho hey i'min love with you / you're in love -- but she always saysthe wrong thing, he finds her in the toiletvomiting blood. she pulls herselfapart / inside like the mountains,the old… Continue reading poem: colorado rich girl
There was a storm coming and she had run six miles and she was not hungry. She sprawled on the couch and ached pleasurably, but her stomach was ringing hollow. I am going to vomit, most likely. Why the fuck am I not hungry? Why the fuck? It was six miles. The last time her… Continue reading writing: hunger and boys and poetry
she felt that anything that happened; that had happenedpast highschool -- was notreal -- she had three dollars and 81 in the account; she kept herhair in a white ribbon in a queue; she romanticized the vomit on her bathroom floorlike she romanticized her cafe-haunts and the blackcoffee, Listz at breakfast and during poetryreadings and… Continue reading poem: Angelika waited for Henri on the sidewalk