poem: psychology of a paris review or new yorker tote bag

she looks like every other bitch; she is readingThe Secret History, and I wrote in the back of Normal People -- if you read too much at one time, yourchest hurts; and I also filled out the Geriatric depression Scale in the back pages, like that asshole Connor did, in shuffling masturbatory pencil. Love toreme… Continue reading poem: psychology of a paris review or new yorker tote bag

poem: my charger

thirty day poetry challengeday 06– ‘my charger‘ was sometimes a wattpad boy (and I mean that ironically and also unironically) -- who wanted to go to Heaven nowrather than later, because it seemed betterthan whatever else; I don't know if that really counts as wanting to kill myself, he said; but I was listing, the… Continue reading poem: my charger

poem: telling him about the affair

thirty day poetry challengeday 03– 'no more staples' no more staples in the mouth, I will(I think) speak -- angel, devil drag medown; cut my polaroid in half, swallow the denser edge, leave mymouth on the vibratingtorn-off edge; I told you all thisstanding on the edge of a mausoleum and your face was white,reflecting the… Continue reading poem: telling him about the affair

poem: old romance

thirty day poetry challengeday 02– ‘CD‘ the CD was a iron disk that she slippedin and out of her mouth, and when he called her from the bathtub she pulled off her skin threw away her face; he sang along to her in the car and laterremembered nothing, it waslike juvenile sex with all the… Continue reading poem: old romance

poem: unopened

thirty day poetry challengeday 01 - 'unopened' like her legs the night of the yellow-dress party (and heryellow hair) his skin still caught in her throat. she said -- I don't carewhat your grandfather sayscan't we take this far away and crash into immortality, the city a loud and bright envelope the partygirls standing, watching… Continue reading poem: unopened

poem: colorado rich girl

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

writing: hunger and boys and poetry

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

poem: Angelika waited for Henri on the sidewalk

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

poem: love poem to internet aesthetics

I can't imagine --a fairer day to love You, thantoday -- the sun is white on the tiles, the statues are made-up likeprostitutes and in the centerof the universe old men sitand talk -- about atomics, aboutwoman, does a form exist independentlyof the concept? In Rome, they do not botherto answer; they make mad love… Continue reading poem: love poem to internet aesthetics

poem: woman vs. truth

his future was in his face,mine is in my crouch: a laundry-listof menial prostitution, bracketing the old crushesand old trauma and old men (hoveringaround the desk, watchingme work). i am reselling myselfday by day, in twenty-twenty-one,trauma is profittrauma is business. he thought he was terriblyoriginal: pretty boy, fucking the systemand then me after. next timei… Continue reading poem: woman vs. truth