poem: the intellectual buying a lamp

this is how you end a poem: at the peak of the fifth act, when all the monstersand parents and the tragic (?) hero, his pale face histumblr black hair, flicked away from his face from the sweat, when he and all of them are in the same room, and you think -- finally, we… Continue reading poem: the intellectual buying a lamp

poem: ‘muse’

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’

poem: diary / best american girl

I told my mother -- I think you are better at being a woman than I am. She said, oh! we are verydifferent people. the christmas lights in the room, in popping dullreds, twilling blues, and avocado green. earlier today I scraped out the avocado flesh and ate downto the shell, left holding its shape… Continue reading poem: diary / best american girl

poem: oxbridge

he came from his side of the bed: whiteshirt, white sweater, whitetrousers with the cresses pressed in, as if he was a gothic romantic caricature of the fine, last old age, aging likeyoung wine, the dorian grey bright and apparent andhelium-esque on his face, he took my thinwhite hands inside his own,unworked, thin hands --… Continue reading poem: oxbridge

writing: screenplay #3, “muse”

The window is gothic, church-shaped, above her. She is bending over a wooden desk, working furiously; outside, it is autumn and the light is brilliant and orange. Her hair tucked hurriedly behind her ears, curling out. He comes and stands above her, looking down; there is something unusually serious about him; he is a person… Continue reading writing: screenplay #3, “muse”

poem: I could die? a footnote?

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?

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: cold war in the fridge and reheated

thirty day poetry challengeday 05– ‘leftovers‘ am I supposed to relate to the third-child motherstanding on the porch with her vaginaon the flagpole and a joint fuckedinto her mouth like a second-smile, the smokesagging through her -- she is Americanmyth; at least during the Depressionshe probably believed in God and sold her childrenwith some feeling,… Continue reading poem: cold war in the fridge and reheated

poem: my father said he was going to the store, we needed milk

thirty day poetry challengeday 04– ‘buy milk‘ I broke down, like my father's car, which had been breaking down again and again, like my fatheralways broke down -- in the parking lotor the pharmacy queue -- where his latestprescription sat whore-ishly orange;he prized them like my mother's tits or my grandfather's slaps or my own… Continue reading poem: my father said he was going to the store, we needed milk

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