
I’ve swept the floor.
I’ve shaven
All the wood and leaves off the bed
Brackish semen fills the sky
And dazed bees browse my drooping
Curls
Look asshole. I know exactly who you are
I know what you’re trying to do to me
This is the song of one hundred
Thousand chemicals approximating
Sunshine in my hair. My lover bit
My cheek this morning. I think I’ll
Fall from one trance into the next
Might fall asleep any minute
It gets tiring making yourself look
like you’re alive while you’re looking
Hard practicing turning
Away from the shit we’re in
Source: Reines, Ariana. A Sand Book. , 2019. Print, p. 157.
Photo: Gerace, Joe. “The Song of One Hundred Thousand Chemicals Approximating Sunshine [Secaucus Junction].” Nov. 14, 2020. JPG.
to write this
allow myself to
enuf drunk
i had
generations
to sip
of annihilation, so,
to get the same was
a technologist’s,
and exploitative
but some crater,
belong like the images
gave taken a decade
age, whose errance,
belong like these
the same ways
well as ‘righting
we reckon
bearing witness,
You have to they said
looking again
husband. The bureaucratic world described by Kafka—among others—
he in modest-shouldered blazer, silk four-in-hand, love.
Ion of the poems included in this book, and poems from the collection also
this universe is moral
ions of hegel’s ontology to justify and clarify this assertion: here we
like a cinderella made entirely of hair
enemy to man, it is obviously because of the disquieting hostility with which woman
persecutes ordinary citizens—people who have never been a
banging coffee pot into the sink.