Month: June 2017

Might I But Moor Tonight in Thee

Mostly it’s wondering if the deposit has cleared and will the chicken last another night while our attenuated dream-selves perform regularly-scheduled acts of erotic spontaneity and inhabit the bodies of the one-percent. The neighbors don’t seem to do much except smoke and occasionally order pizza at 11 p.m. while up the street, between the Anabaptists and the aging hardcore bassist/IT guy/dad, the female bagworm moth dies immediately after the act of mating, her larvae to burrow into her corpse/cocoon and emerge in spring (the world in spring: slow-lidded, incredulous, the half-thawed river scabbed with ice) through which desire, being...

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Having a Gender Is Like Having a Boyfriend

grind him into little capsules to take with warm milk when you are feeling low or bad about your body. you want to strip the skin silence of lambs style, wear it out in all the grit & scruff & Jodie Foster is a deer hid beyond the pines whimpering & pattering the soundtrack. he bites your ear so sick the neighbor’s basement floods. put him in makeup & step on his head sharp —heeled until it screams. let gender touch the place until flushed, afraid, no longer tending up yourself to some other hot mouth pressed against rock...

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Night Sky

we wrapped our throats in whiskey and our bodies in quilts, backs to the plywood deck, skulls delirious with sky-rambling emerald saucers nostalgic for northwestern farmland they’ve never touched. your irises go quiet but for the scabby rustle of your neighbor’s chickens, named for southern states whose summers she’s never sucked humidity from. you are a forest fire prickling through pale skin. your hair is soft and long and I thought sleeping with a jewish girl could make my body holy but there is a stone in my gut I cannot dig out with prayer or fear. my ribs...

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Blue/Birds

I drink my morning tea while sitting in a wicker chair that was my mother’s. Sunday sun spills itself through humidity so thick I wear it like a tight layer of skin. Morning glory vines—the only thing about this inherited house that I love—hug fence posts and faded shutters; the blooms sprawl lazily in the rock garden. The neighbors are coming home from church in their Sunday best. Pansy to the left, Rose across the bend in the road—we live on Daisy Drive. I planted Darwin tulips in the fall, and now they are blooming and completely lost in...

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Begin Again

“If you begin and it is not the beginning, begin again,” the story said. I pored over it, tried to figure out how all the pieces fit together. I found myself returning to this line. It had power. I wanted power. I wanted control. I underlined it. Circled it. If I looked at it enough, read it enough, thought about it enough, wrote it enough, I would eventually understand it. I thought that if I understood it, I could use it. I had been off my antidepressants for four months. I read the story “Things You Should Know” for...

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