Long ago people made gods of palm dates and prayed to them. But once they got so hungry, they ate their gods— then wandered, still hungry and lonely, in search of succor. Finally, these people conceived the idea of worshipping gods as ghosts in machines— inedible gods of metal, stainless, perfect, and tireless, except that…
I will die one day in this land and you will fly back a single bar of me packed in dry ice. The airport dogs will sniff the carousel for traces of live matter and the cacao-nutty smell will send them whimpering. Make sure I’m conched right: neither too gritty nor too emulsified, tempered properly…
Mare oculus, collect the light that falls as prism color-code micro-smells in the rain. Mare os, guide me down into dark caverns wet moss beneath my feet. Mare nasus, to the weaving interior fields of stalks, reach leather-green of pine needles, black twigs. Mare finditur, rift opens below the nose’s saddle too tiny for my…
America you never had a black child I tell myself you never had a black child America because I love you still Because I have to love you, since you’re still Alive. But how are you alive When your black child is dead, who was alive And you…
On a Russian prank show, a woman gets a call saying her son has been kidnapped for ransom. When she doesn’t send the money, she receives a dismembered finger in the mail. Something’s been tearing the rings off Saturn. The winds too are different, some relationship between positive ion content and a spike in homicides….
try to describe it even one quick line drawn with unlifted pencil already wrong
It’s a private collection. My love and I pay more than we can afford to walk through this apartment-turned-exhibit. Our guide leads us into the first room, which is full of the sort of dark that makes you feel gone, that pulls your color out through your heels. According to our guide, this…
I do not fear being alone anymore, any more than I fear the “I” in a poem. “I” still do not understand myself completely, and if viewed from the corner of the eye, that’s thrilling. “I” am in a lifelong mystery within my own ownership. Yet no one, not even “I” will witness its unfolding…
is in our hands: in these bones lashed by ligaments, sheathed in skin. Flex your fingers wide, like folding fans, collapse them in. Muscleless puppets, they are merciless or tender depending on what moves them. We can train a single finger to hold a body’s weight; all ten together, to summon a…
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