#Americans #LanguagePoetry #Women #FreeVerse
Ventriloquy is the mother tongue. Can you colonize rejection by phrasing your request, “Me want?”
If sadness is akin to patience, we’re back! Pattern recognition was our first response
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...
Discomfort marks the boundary. One early symptom was the boundary… The invention of hunger. I could use energy. To serve.
You may “have” sex— but those round sink—holes beneath the off—ramps, scabbed with whatever
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…
What if I were turned on by seemi… or “extrapolate?” What if I maneuvered conversation… words? Perhaps the excitement would come…
You’re it. It is (you are) an error with an arsenal of disguises,
Shooting pleasures Ok’d by My being seen For Or as
The very flatness of portraits makes for nostalgia in the connoisseur. Here’s the latest
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
spider on the cold expanse of glass, three stories high rests intently and so purely alone. I’m not like that!
With whom do you leave yourself during reveries? The one making coffee or doing the driving—
The jacaranda, for instance, is be… but not serious. That much I can guess. And that the view
Card in pew pocket announces, “I am here.” I made only one statement because of a bad winter.