what has me—anything you gave some fifties clothing or my head—great troops to have you—i could play against blackholes like picasso—i would play again like some converse days fell through and become? you look the karen horney kind all—other something screaming sobbing you gave me any possibility no one covered epochs— gold of my best thing you—i would solve a paste or my leave hay feelings two years at whatever wanted life—my fantastic advancing— i recovered with light with light! comedy! tragedy! tragedy! tragedy! tragedy! tragedy! tragedy! tragedy!
would art be a battleground?
forget college circle prompts
reasoning this: the old anti-censorship birth-game
awoke: the journalist outlouds dear trench of sky
scales and art forward has to be black
long for enjoyment during crisis of this: something
my mouth’s desire improving each generation
both males and art forward replace themselves
they believed me once entitled of containment
a generational cataclysm of cloud, because black, because long lines
enjambed of this: shame animates this poem
seven years wet no matter the danger of horah or humor
they please negativity stay with the poem, top-to-tit, before improving it
a prompt: read the work with boys with quick fingers — quick
trench of pharmaceutical glass for what’s parenthetical: i keep forgetting
pronouns ineffectively release negative desires
they have shifted the work, even among the paranoid, to shame anymore.
i have the power of numbers: the trick people are born woke;
the living prompt: read this poem and wept.
This pattern supports previous research
which found the beneficial potential
for humor to release negative mood scales
and replace them
with a positive
sense of euphoria
Both males and females appear to benefit
from the enjoyment
of specific humor
Source: Prerost, F. (1995). Sexual desire and the dissipation of anger arousal through humor appreciation; Gender and content issues. Social Behavior and Personality: An international journal, 23, 45-52.
a group to watch foreign of russian
courth-round loss been a
a times have
stenched pop icon
is going more
the us open a huge in porter celled
a placed by a months reviews
and memoir coversion
and source push back
ronan farrow whole competitorial users saying
cornell jeenah moon the florida primary election they
puzzle in ebola outbreak
they differenched partment and events
colin kaepernick abortions? heart your story painting
the daily bazelon a
combatants bad fats them
have fore please
the daily overs begin the
million day draws closer
every day draws
midterms as out of abba conversion
today: fall restaurant
your chocolate your days at risk
his impact us to talking
email story painting israel novak
is to story of fighted
wellupdated at a found
evidence in which hotel contrary
to know a crossword
take on your charade
paul taylor is
trapped under race class boxed among historical exclusive advanced
handstand genderstand understand active advances of the early works
create mutually early work before common understanding to deposit
a dead body in sojourner truth or anna julia cooper intersection
scissors in the factory deterosexual feminism of resent
terms coins for economic status alone
another worker struggles thus the idea of immolation
connect work before feminist movements under mt etna
trapped under women oppressed the social inequality
a sacrificing or sacrificial killing or early women are women
a loaded pistol hung by its umbilical cord from the chandelier
radical as in pertaining to the root
Because therapy heals all worlds:
Welcome to Lotus Land.
the TSA Agents of the Mind
shoot back to zip me away from gnosis.
Their neon swims across my whimsy metrics
in the small, air conditioned room.
Whales tornado a hundred thousand phrenology busts.
Warm, oozing cherry wood wands my birdcage.
Me in the center as a campfire. Beeping.
That's why I abandoned the mast for swine.
There's too much good television now.
A speedboat mustn't consider sails.
Odysseus' men slither across their barnacled flesh.
A thousand Athenas for the taking.
I chase the abandoned speedboat
then give up the ghost.
Sacrifice can make me whole again,
says the whales.
The workers — using only her blowholes — tie me
to the television above her
The workers tie on her marvelous golden sandals.
This cool shade sweeps me.
You respond now.
“Amongst a-many terrible bright scenes, / in the submarine’s sick-bay a fire began / which we all fought in the aisle, / pillowcases exploded into flame, & fiends / swept the length of the great ship of man / cleaning out the good & the vile.” John Berryman (DS, 317)
no shy realization
through the night being abandoned
my father precious dark expanses i had not
before actually it was guilty answers
i was the guilty answer i was guilty at being away for
confident hours every precious day
it was guilt before
actually it was guilty answers
i wasn't anger i was away from
i was guilty for the night
guilt at distant bedlam actually
i felt like
i had gone
it was guilt at being away
it wasn't anger at not being
it wasn't anger at being son set
not being away from a father
it was guile sprung the net