Month: April 2007
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What you think about afterward
Before I leave your place, you tell me that our time together is precious, which makes me barely able to keep down the hard-boiled eggs we watched float to the surface just moments ago. How embarrassing, that this word should be the result of my pants hanging off the lamp last night. I mean, it’s…
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Ratios
I: like running until my chest starts burning/ handling directives, twisted knobs/ like a clearing & a height & a matching of their time/ something small/ like in relation to/ tethered horse; snow in both stirrups/inferring history, disclosed knobs/ like notes transmitted by low light, lessening
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On talking to the wind
Wind replied, I can no longer see myself passed these corners & have begun to doubt.
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Good Night, Fuck You, & Everything
Consistency is a joke with more than one punch line, for instance the elastic tendencies of our locus, like if there was no night, who would need the word day, like collecting methods hinged on pronouns, orientating around the pronoun with concern for the second person: a troubled place; an intrusive voice; the language of…
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Nest & Trees
Nest & Trees1997Kiki Smith In search of spaces that aren’t white, interlaying bundled hairs & debris are removed softly from crevices of cement. Leaving the world is as easy as rolling over; it is the wind that causes my branches to shake, not their height or the excitement of distance that bends away from assembled…
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Ferrying Forward
then it was too earlyto have that sense of roundness resteasily on my chest, preferring insteadfor this latitude to mature beforewe face & look on
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As you are walking away toward a place I cannot go
cold airI shut the storm windowsI shut the storm out perimeter of aluminum, gauge balance balance the corners here curled leaning gaiety hulking under doorways a hand wraps around hence is in sight peering back what is April & cold unilateral with faculties demands demands pacified through double doors or revolving or none at all…
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My divisions
The more that we meet on street corners, with winter hats & hands cold with cigarette, the more settled our future imagined projected by my map of estuaries becomes, my widening course meeting your tide, rivulets of stone into which this run off seeps. Pushing up, there is a position where we meet. I have…
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Moving
& the sirens expand down the avenue & then into the distance & then to every place my extensions have yet to reach—the samething which wakes me & drives me to sleep & why it is that I accept this will be here in the morningafter the excitement of having something up my sleeve passes.…
No Help for That | Jackie Clark 