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POETRY!
ALL ARTICLES
But words are futile.
So I am left with these scorch marks.
Again, I dream that my teeth fall out (this is a dream about control).
Scholars of the Global North sometimes shelter themselves in neo-colonial positions when confronted with revolutionary praxis.
“So I’m there, walking around with L0V3 D0ll and she’s wearing these awfully tight shoes and she tells me it’s so she can always remember her bondage or whatever. Some sexbot thing, I thought. They must know she wants to be a model.”
“I want to look as beautiful as my casket.
I want to live forever and be afraid of everything.
Life is so good and it’s only going to get worse.
And in dreams, I don’t have to tuck my wings inside my dress.
There are angels sitting next to you in the train,
Yet to earn their halo, yet to enter heaven.”
“When we - the dispossessed - the faithful -
Who have been barred out of sacred places
Will be seated on high cushions
When the crowns will be tossed,
When the thrones will be brought down.”
“I think of her sometimes, on nights like this, when my shirt is low and the wind kisses my chest as greedy eyes stare. They don’t know there is nothing there anymore. I ate her years ago, splitting the tough skin with my front teeth to reach the fruit inside. But tonight, here, with the moon hiding behind low, yellow clouds, Beautiful Girl walks with me.”
“When he slept, I chiseled out a keyhole
in his back to peek inside the crushed
velvet cavity, the bone cage of a person
who did not: a traveling ball of saliva,
surging breaths, simmering bile.”
“Even this eternity will meet its end, and the world shall wait For another, and another, and another. The end is forever.”
“Etched in the fading hues and worn paths of ancient roads,
Marking the passage to memory's embrace.”
your eyes wander to their new leaves
curling at the sky -
110 emblazoned to the left of the screen,
you search for truth in their cycles but
We share the same affliction, him and I.
Tell me your pretty name so I might write you a portrait.
No hour shall be forgotten
And no sinner shall weep.
I don’t want one thousand words | Screaming at a black hole.
To be human, is to be a supermarket stroller.
How happy I would be
To be a prisoner
Of another skin.
half of me belongs squatting on plastic stools
I ate oranges and didn’t know they tasted like sunset from Castle Hill.
You move through the grain of closed eyes, calling through the undergrowth of my body.
people watching. i peer ruthlessly from behind my darkened eyes. observing and absorbing like film.
I was caught like a fishhook / in the soft dab of my lower lip.
In her novels and private correspondence, the gap was narrowed. What was human became animal and what was animal became human.
Nothing comes from nothing, And so Prometheus toiled: I must change your life.