poetry
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Vicious Mercy (Vermeer in Death Valley, 2020)
Leave Vermeer alone. When I write The girl is dying I do not mean to enter the girl nor deconstruct her state of abstract goingness. It’s a figure beyond an open window in a time of plague. Disemboweled skywriting or the family name forgotten in water. Which is to say: Vicious mercy becomes the uncountable…
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portrait in oblivion (isa)
she says i can cook vegan she says savory nutritional yeast flakes harvested for good health our face is probably the only thing of that scale crushed red pepper flakes our face obsessed in its desire for duplicate i didn’t choose this sacred hardware our battle ax-thin XXX bride prime butch dress cascading salvo cachaça…
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Dear Oblivion
Prayer peels soul from body. Robin-eyed memory of never known. The scent of winter jasmine, he writes. I ascent, with neither knowledge nor trace experience. Mouth crawls with the acid taste of spider webs. Begging, really. Dear Oblivion, I continue asking the drain — conduit from, passive voice, channel away — to do the hard…
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Belt of Violent Hearth
Wikipedia Poem, No. 999 in the belt of violent hearth studies two least eat a goodgod slowly foods (see a coated in twenties more the streets an effort to accept it cool care mealsmoretips to causeoverly autobiographicalnaked sweet cool confirmed cases youwantas much as muchless the earth eat a guidingworldwide this weight intake the azure…
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Sphinx, of Cement and Aluminum
Wikipedia Poem, No. 998 the coronavirus show loses weight overtly and as much as supplements holy travel warning infects the earth studied worldwide these researchers fattening dozens of trusted sources trusted trusted trusted at the source the coronavirus show over time weighs poetry and researchers may have the greatest risk factors for weight trump is…
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1870
thoughtless deference to free men swimming by who mostly don’t—though sometimes must— respect the point of exclamation! / part and not part [sirens wail] [she moans] bean can and bottle top; variable dimensions are we talking about the made-thing or the making-thing drifts into reverie bamoun duala ewondo gunpowder igbo kikongo lingala yoruba sango twi…
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Dementia Landscape
a fire roars in foreign white ink a familiar name, no not familiar a bone-inlaid key paws open the heavy vault door one green eye one red eye laid over the mountain ascent three deer-blood lips three fir tongues, teeth cast like needles over the valley the temple the far-off glacial scar like oxen yolked…
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‘Halo’ by Ailbhe Darcy
It was late last night the dog was speaking of me,and the gulls speaking of me, out over the field.You were drawing water from the tap in the kitchenand a moth was speaking of me, beating for light. I was raising delft from the sink to the aumbry,while they spoke of you in loops, over…
wikipoem.org 