poem: a dead blog

definition: a dead blog. as this platform has been since the publication of this poem. i have no proof but a strong terrible feeling. i guess i thought art was supposed to be controversial and say the unsayable things. 2018: don't bother with revolution unless your manifesto is politically-correct.

poem: c++ [i do not write love poems anymore]

#include <iostream> i will just rewrite things nicely inside me and rewire the currents and de-bug the code so that int main () { he was not my second love or the first boy he was just he was just endl; he was nothing. he was a flux of my self-projection and a tightly labeled… Continue reading poem: c++ [i do not write love poems anymore]

poem: all this is [now] redundant

everytime i hear footsteps i think it is [him] but i look up and of course i am wrong he does not belong to me [anymore] so why am i waiting for him to come back to me. there is too much grey in tiled hearts i am just bored i am a female anomaly… Continue reading poem: all this is [now] redundant

poem: this will probably offend you (i’m not sorry)

i would be brilliant at being victorian, even as i would hate it but at least then the war cries of women (western, privileged women) would make sense. as it is, i am the artist looking stupidly (they say) to the wrong political direction and for me life comes before a maligned humanist choice. new… Continue reading poem: this will probably offend you (i’m not sorry)

poem: what isn’t polite but is poetic

there is a strange boy just across from me and if the universe was titled the other direction the stars would fall drunkenly in our laps and then drip out of our too-small reach, their dying tails in my grey sweater and his wrinkled shirts. i think there is something fundamentally wrong with this boy… Continue reading poem: what isn’t polite but is poetic

poem: the fiction, after

i intend to make the most of this heartbreak and to see your shadowed face slipping by in every man who walks briskly through the rain and to see you in every false memory and to see you laying naked next to me with our hands between the cigarette smoke and then later the door… Continue reading poem: the fiction, after

poem: foolish games

i won't tell you his name but it's very beautiful still inside my mouth and i could have civilized him and brought that innocence softness of him into everyday candlelight. the places where i go, now, are only places where he smiled at me once but all is fiction and idealized in this locked box… Continue reading poem: foolish games

poem: girl standing (abroad)

girl standing in the yellowing light of a foreign classroom with asian fingerprints on the windows and her face turned up to the rippling low green mountains that sneak up to the smog and the blue horizons. she has a red scarf twisted around her neck and her future with the romance pecking at the… Continue reading poem: girl standing (abroad)

poem: four girls dancing

four girls dancing like sun-drenched cats brown hands water between waving afternoon sun men singing to thrumming spices in the air and hair swished carelessly back to black liquid roses limp from young ready passion and even slower winding brown fingers in the heady shimmering noon-hour curling around us like a tightly rolled r the… Continue reading poem: four girls dancing