Beneath the writing on the wall is the writing it was designed to obscure. The two together form a third kind There is no writing

Let’s see, how could you describe this to a listener? How can I describe this to our listeners? My head is in a steel vise I have been on a long voyage—a sea voyage—I have been trave...

In a digital dream or on the silver screen Invisible Sister said: Whenever sperm pours from my breas… I am forced to ask,

This can be seen as placing a mirr… The mountain is where we live, a c… of unequal sides the days no sun a… This is life in the square inch fi… a September particle, biochip, or…

I do not know English. I do not know English, and theref… say about this latest war, floweri… scope in the evening sky. I do not know English, and theref…

He says this red as dust, eyes as literal self among selves and picks the coffee up. Memory is kind, a kindness, a kind of unlistening, a grey wall even toward which you move. It ...

Sister Satan declares, Elegy is liquid no it is air. Sister Satan declares, When poetry reinvents itself without words, I will be first in line to listen. Declares that when sex reinven...

Oh, body, where are you going, body of the earth, lost double, lost copy of the body mute body of yesterday in tomorrow’s shredded cloth?

Plan of the City of O. The great… curves down toward the cathedral.… water runs out into night where th… saint still maintains his loft. He… from the lower level and pulls up…

From the Mercury Fountain, Mahmo… spills a stream echo of things sun to stone speaking cicada to poppy

Now I see them sitting me before… There’s noise and laughter. Someb… mentions that hearing is silver before we move on to Table One with the random numbers. I look do…

Write this. We have burned all th… Write this. We have burned all th… Write this. We have adopted their… dress Write this. A word may be shaped…

Sister, is it not time for us to learn to speak now that the infernal machines have captured the breathing word? Now that drones fill the sky

At the end of the bridge is a stat… it goes back into my throat drying… Miracle of Sicilian weeping. Blee… dreams. He announced that he was about to…

The clock is a fiction, dear Sist… yet we live within it, Sister, its arms are ours, and the fiction is as real as a rose in the steel dust