keep it light keep it light
You say your publicist is here
My hatred of perfectionism
Oh a stately pleasure-dome decree
I’ve never crushed on fire fighters, but I understand
the appeal of their hive of fire, seduced
I’m waiting in this rowboat
and chewing on bullets.
Time isn’t blessing us
or maybe I lost the key
to the door where confetti pours out.
No need for telepathy – they see
(themselves as stone) emotions,
Dead actors were once impaled in the heart
and buried at a crossroads,
because they embodied characters
a sprawling skyline stanzic unescorted
a recumbent cadence now absorbed in mother's fingerfeel
To rebel against being a woman seemed as foolish to her as to take pride in it. This winking is banal.
Nothing personal. Nothing impersonal, either.
Lord, let me deliver key capabilities
God’s handiwork shows in Jack Lemmon,
we watched a lot of Marvin Hagler
Not hostile, but not agreeable enough. Not dumb, but
not the smartest. Not fake, but not genuine. Not warm,
but not cold either. Not smiling, but not frowning.
A tea bag ﬁlled with cold water.
“enlightenment” is shadowed by “many a sacrifice or vengeance.”
he seemed to have anticipated theory at every turn
But enough. I’m starting to get upset again.
Release came through a number of straight-up friends involved in strange poetry scenes
an overturned lantern
a little rabid wolf perched on the threshold
& lavender & turquoise & the woman
At once / each time
It’s Me vs. Them.
a violin case in the passenger seat. the neck tipped down like a bottle being emptied into the sink.
i like to try on formal dresses. ones i can wear during piano recitals or on the rare chance i go to the symphony to see papa play cello.
so the afternoon was devoted
to helping beginners dial into endgame necessities
Our bodies have one life
Sacred to some and to others
Reconstitution’s in vogue, all
that’s solid is old, what we keep
in mind comes back to us. For real,
like, five percent of what we think
Tell me who
is your devil
cloyed across eyelids
myopic edge of night
It’s also a relief to be unloved
he thought to me
there are infinite—
The things around the person bring out their hidden colors. Just
a theory, like economics.
Then, did the pull of the tide fail to mirror
the pulse of the blood towards breath?
To build anything
Terror needs some-
Thing like and not
Diesel soot, a plastic bottle for that lung
Wracked in a good autumn, a Saturday bath.
The artist should not be a mindless bush or a dripping crystal.
This is a bad poem / by a lady poet.