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August 25, 16

These are the things I did with the stick: / chewed it, waved it to the sky, poked myself / in the eye, pretended it was a daisy, pretended / it was an orchid, a tulip, lily, cigarette, / made it into a gun and shot my brother, nudged my brother to...Read More  »

August 17, 16

the person I love / has a yellow spot in his eye / if he closes that eye several states away / does it still exist // the bells were ringing / when I left the building / this time that they’re saying / it doesn’t exist Read More  »

August 10, 16

unforld mye folde / lik / a chylde debarkynge the old / treee / ekspektynge a hole / mye fase 2 the flore / off a feeld / becums me / wut is / a hole if not a thynge 2 emptie Read More  »

August 3, 16

(code of) a black cat projected onto a white wall / (code of) a 404 Not Found projected onto a white cat / (code of) a flower painting projected onto a glass wall // (code of) my brother projected onto his daughter / (code of) my mother projected...Read More  »

July 29, 16

In the opposite of woods, in the red ever, I am hungry and you are. // I used to have this job, the bodies entered all at once in a line, towing their essentials. / Workers left, as I, it’s hard to say whether it was for love. Read More  »

July 21, 16

I haven’t yet begun to use metaphors. / It’s still raining. I don’t use metaphors. / My heart is black and quiet. / My heart has not yet begun to beat. // the horror / the horror Read More  »

July 13, 16

ninety thousand children crossing the border in the last three years what thirst what listening what refuge what desert harbor what desert keeps at bay what keens what dims what signals we cannot read what enforcement what filament what unmoved...Read More  »

July 6, 16

Uncomfortable in a hospital gown, fallow. The thing I’m praising is wretchedness. It gets easier, as easy as a slur. The tongue root and the doctor’s late, blinking the back of a machine. I know blinking means OK but even so. I’m surprised the...Read More  »

June 29, 16

A cop knelt and kissed the feet of a priest, / and I threw up at the sight of that. // My only security has been to garden civility / in city boots scuffed along the way / by impedimenta to my solace. Read More  »

June 22, 16

I was young, always returning to the municipal building, / where an iron lamp hung, a flickering vestige of history. / And when I moved my belongings in with a man and out of their hole, / Goodbye, my family. I’ll be seeing you. I’ll be writing you...Read More  »

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