September 2011
9 posts
Part 3
With a mighty crack, a tree falling in a wood heard by her alone, our object begins to extend. At first it maintains its singular pronged form, breaking the womb like a knife through a deflated balloon. The exterior cauterizes tissue on its journey, but on contact with the stomach acid begins to leak, dark liquid spills onto the sheets. Our subject has passed out. Further branches flourish from...
Part 2
Afternoon has broken. Her eyes twitch open. Usually she achieves a few hours of sleep at most. A dress, a coat. Boots. The door is locked behind her.
The street is cold and grey. Grey and cold. The street is grey and cold. The street is cold and grey, colder than grey. Greyer than cold. Colder and greyer. Car goes by. Blank faces. Babies, kicking. The shop signs proudly proclaim name...
Part 1
The female body can be awfully preoccupying. Not in the aesthetic sense, you understand. Dull doldrum quiet hits all the chandeliers in the apartment. Paralytic silence relieved only by a Brownian swaying, barely tangible. Forged distances lead us to lives like this. The mind had been quite empty, or at the very least mantrically reciting dates, times, ideas, memories, misgivings. Dissociation can...
2 tags
Why
why can I NEVER COMFORTABLY FINISH ANYTHING.
I hate finishing essays, stories, poems, articles, fucking, text messages.
WHY IS IT SO IMPOSSIBLE. WHY DO I GET CAUGHT IN A BIG MISTY HAZE OF LETHARGY AND WRITER’S BLOCK.
I think this stems from when I was a kid and I used to be an irritating brat and leave a tiny bit of food on my plate and insist to my parents that I couldn’t eat it.
...
Coraly Voy
Black brown covers dash about pink pony tail ties twitching, stray thin blades curl up. Move on. She’s running over gym equipment, and all there is, is hair ties, is tiny clothing bought by guardian. In a room, another, another, thousands of square spaces define your head, tiny feet, bumping into others, once or twice shiny dark eyes see the unknown, void, in echo chambers always with them...
High Sooner
Nothing akin to the pathetic light of day wakes you with such a start as a connection- our earlier death marked the rise of a totalitarianism that picks at the scabs on my knees until they are white, click click and removal, pricks my ears with dark joy at your head, your mouth, your breath that is also mine and the rabbit that stared and stuffed its mouth with gemstones, we gave it rhinestones...
So I've been making a portfolio of my poems
Because I have a publisher who would like them. Vague sense of excitement stilled by anticipation of failure. I’ll post some of the poems in it on here, most of them are from last year or earlier.
