a collaged cut-up:
A name inside the book: I had forgotten I could hang onto the hook curled into its beginning. Just dangle. (Her) love just dangles. When upside down, blood spells out solutions.
It is only upon closer inspection that one notices there are no teeth in her smile. So her face collapses like that building. So her cheeks have nowhere else to go but inward. So her chin hides beneath her nose, which collects wrinkles like childhood secrets
If one lifts one’s skirt, it is to show one’s memory. I keep my calendars between my legs. There is a holiday behind my knee and you may find a semi-molded mammal beneath all that hair. Don’t you want to ask what that lump is? Don’t you want to know why I must call it something else to survive its history?
Embodying both the earth and the violence of its everyday breathing pattern. It’s arms are floatation devices. When the earth coughs out catastrophe, be closest to its palms; they will save.
There are no women who carry my blood. Each one has left due to diagnosis, border patrol, madness, sexual deviance, long-distance, diet, fatigue, loss of appetite, loss of sexual drive, disgust, disappointment, distrust…(or are these just the symptoms?)
*well, aren’t these all just symptoms?