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The Bodyexpand_moreThis has been a good day. First the milestone of getting to page 300.
In the reign of the cold, in the name of the sorrow, in the flame of the hark.
I would slip the hook under the sow’s chin, hold my breath, and pull.
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens her first rose
Beached on the kingdom I learned to swim with my eyes closed.
Filarial worms in bloodstream darkness know when it’s night.
If you are hidden treasure, mine, don’t let me lose what I have gained.
How can you love them and yet how could you live
without them?
I keep an eye on my shit—this body, this lost cause, this bad joke— I want to be good at more than just childlessness and tying balloon animals.
When I cast my vote, I become just that tiny, abstract, lost, and essential.
After four years of watching his body implode, we’re terrified.
Collage what we can, form fractured and repaired, blend of is and isn’t.
Room painted off-white, so the death rattle can lean off the wall.
Sometimes the old men held their fishing poles like divinations.
My cry for the first time fastened garlands of hope to the roof.
It was half the Spanish he knew—stop, I have a shotgun.
Truth, it seems, spills from movies and sitcoms in the wires’ wake.
No one perhaps has ever felt passionately towards a pencil.
Nothing is beyond texture. Wind mouths the shape of clouds.
The horror of the waste appalls me. This beauty. This habitation of dream.
My body. Stop the air. Travel by stopping, full stop, just there.
Years after the Sisters of the Holy Names left you unlock the door.
She had seen him take the crop to a girl for doing nothing at all.
There was a fish. And then there was the consciousness of robots.
Put yourself in bad positions, they’ll remind us. Address your weaknesses.
A man jostles my stride to the street, no shoulder on which to move.
My children, children, remember to let me go, delete my number.
The linebacker grins, but the lines around his eyes tighten.
If you are going to be my teacher, you will have to become a tiger.
