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Most people don’t realize that they can sit up in the coffin and bite at the bubble’s edge so as to
peer over the dream and into the other. I am so like a widow when I do it. I am only in need of
those little mirror-spots, the oldness of the edge wherein glass meets room and there’s that
rubbed dipping effect. If only we could do without the evil oldness of mere impression.

a whole room of farting in a wet bathing suit
the poodle skirt with musical note applique
woman head cake
woman head cake art deco plate
a seat at dinner
pastel cotton briefs
the duplicating licorice I’ve already asked after five times,

almost like freckles on the reflection, that stiffness of the face up against the loose shimmer

like how I feel when I can finally lie on my bed and have my glitter painted fingernails right
close to my face and can just see purple silver smear,
how only that matters to me

The curdling
in my house was curdling my house

I was its head seeing its shimmer around
to a liquid puma with its hand cupped to ear to listen.

That fucker.
I can hear plaid in here today, too.
I can wear a hat like a swimcap and sheen.








The thing is get the glint.
Sunrays bouncing off the tiniest mirrors, every which way.
You’ll cheer right up at these crime scene photos.
A feather rising in the short timelessness of the body’s lifting.
Green horse head.

Feeling sick whenever the car momentarily passes into the unknown of extreme light or shade.

Paul Newman called me Dirty Dancing called me Miami Vice short sleeve button downs pink &
yellow lattice prints called me here while I was driving into the uplifted and possessed body.


Green horse head.
Green culottes.
Hello again. Yes.
It is I, Lord. Watching your portion
On dry land
my sleeve is extravagant & in water it is onerous.
I unfolded myself while I read my own pounding.

I was walking the darling river the darling river


A dull pastoral. Maybe Degas.
I don’t know and I don’t care.
A girl reaches over another’s head to grab a lovely sprig
and when she deflates in return to the picnic blanket,
the top of the other’s head is a vicious animal gawking in desire.

In the side-seam pockets of burlap bodied animal life,
I slip out to meet you
in rather cataclysmic clothing if I do say so myself: watery and vine-ish,
grinding in the outerspace night.

How dare she.

The borders between things in the museum are invisible and infinite and here.

A spreading gape.
A feathered bodice.
An     as walls make loss of knees     effect,

the uninterruptible sugar of anticipation.


Elvira Navarro via translator Christina MacSweeney: “For me, the present is eternity; when my
stomach aches, I think I’m going to have to go around hunched over forever.”

When they ask at the door
I’ve been with nobody.

I do remember
spending a whole afternoon of Cornflower Blue crayon.
Its rolling across my hand, its perfection
in name and hue.

Thinking I’d seen or heard
a demon stalking the garden.
Thinking it’d been nobody but some fool in face powder trying to stir something up around here.

Here is where I pull a perfect Mary on them, offering
a nest of tiny boats
made from sewing needles.

And in the small threat of this, they all see exactly what I mean about that space just between the
mirror-glass and the room. If we could just arrive there. If we could just do away with

each of the other surfaces.

How I long to make an eternity of the liminal. Obviously.


I once heard a laugh through the whole house and yard and it went all night long all day.


it bewrays
babydoll pajamas
a steadfast gullet has he I offered

Philip Sorenson: “Where every secret tradition is just the meeting of phenomena and being.”

I once heard a laugh through the whole house and yard and it went all night long all day.

a steadfast gullet has he I offered

a stupid donkey running around in my ratty garlands
whole world turns yellow sometimes
I loiter there
in the yellow stupid donkey time

In a childhood repetitive nightmare: my grandmother and her sisters are girls and all yelling at
once over a swinging-in-the-velvet-air pendant. They all want it all at once all night long.

What happens when you’ve been time
like this

parting my hair, the side chosen for me
its length and color
smell in the closet
sheets pulled from the closet and patted onto baby’s bed
the butterfly there on the pillow in the room in the afternoon all night long

return to ISSUE ONE

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