#Americans #LanguagePoetry #Women
It’s as if we’ve just been turned… in order to learn that the beetle we’ve caught and are now devouring is our elder brother
The idea that they were reenacting something which had been staged in the first place bothered her. If she wanted to go on, she’d need to ignore this limp chronology. She assumed he was...
spider on the cold expanse of glass, three stories high rests intently and so purely alone. I’m not like that!
So these are the hills of home. H… nearly subliminal. To see them is… double, hear bad puns delivered wi… An untoward familiarity. Rising from my sleep, the road is…
Ventriloquy is the mother tongue. Can you colonize rejection by phrasing your request, “Me want?”
You may “have” sex— but those round sink—holes beneath the off—ramps, scabbed with whatever
You’re it. It is (you are) an error with an arsenal of disguises,
With whom do you leave yourself during reveries? The one making coffee or doing the driving—
A merchant is probing for us with his chintz curtain effect. *
Shooting pleasures Ok’d by My being seen For Or as
There were distinctive dips and shivers in the various foliage, syncopated, almost cadenced in the way
Discomfort marks the boundary. One early symptom was the boundary… The invention of hunger. I could use energy. To serve.
“must represent the governess for, of course, the creature itsel… could not inspire such terror.” staring at me fixedly, no trace of recognition.
Complex systems can arise from simple rules. It’s not that we want to survive, it’s that we’ve been drugged
The very flatness of portraits makes for nostalgia in the connoisseur. Here’s the latest