Friday, May 22, 2015

Jordan Lake at Sunset

scenes of the
moment of the star are
red streaming
according to a low wow
one of those black kinds streams
in the monsoon
one exhale in its own world

patterned water
I forgot I used to fly
kites      lived
this day before
these shades
tones of the
current of the star arc red conduit
speaking according to a low crow
one of those black birds
screams in the monsoon
one exhale is its own world a
peach dream
phased out
we won’t
be back

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

into view of the raindrop

into view of the raindrop

the green spring               so yellow


with a head like an eye

on top of             full bodies but

we’re rooted together

humerus swinging numb

feet getting caught         tripping into                       coincidences

you are the eternity and you are the mirror          which I keep

thinking of as a vortex                   optical illusion

tripping / / over all the dandelions

in them

yellow                   giving way to green

buoyant / / elastic

magnetic             verdant

fertile longing

glowing heart

Wednesday, February 25, 2015


It’s the card without the man and the eyes again, coming up out of and going back into faceted heads.

I’m imagining without God in the sky, eyes out of the dark under the man’s wings, God peeping out of the light – a tornado of eyes and the root underneath in sacrificial posture.

continuum          a flow

looking between legs

at the sun

and other            unexpected places
kneeling on the                                                green
steaming or smoking

everyone melted
into one owl


high up on steps
reclining low
tuning fork violation

The wind screams, throws a tantrum in my body, breaking glass in non-error.
Tumbling God is about process, flinging acid.

Friday, February 20, 2015


fire and a rock on my head.
i’m a slow flow in lava-land. i’m in bed every morning mesmerized by the light. staring out so my eyes can touch. i want to be light.
my boyfriend warned me about staring into the void.
it’s lined with irises like eyes, like the purple ones that were standing under my window at the silver maple place.
i ought to be loving. i ought to be generous because of proximity.
i’m severed.

i’m mimicking the unseen.
the point of hugging is to try and touch. hugging you is hugging me. you yourself are more space than solid, many and one.
i can grasp your material, not your electric charge.
indeterminate and undeniable— it’s hard to operate under the belief that you are an illusion.
i make it interesting by trying to touch absence while present.

i’m the appendage of a vibration,
all of the irises touching, blooming, blinking under this vibrating sky
called blue by eyes both
nothing and accident.

Sunday, February 15, 2015

Never Catch Me

“this that life beyond your own life, this ain’t physical for mankind
this that out of body experience, no coincidence you been died
 bitch, you’re dead!

-Flying Lotus
You’re Dead!

Did I drink up the sea?
Is it language or the body?
What needs to remain?

voices crashing around
bodies crashing around

this smells like a place where trees have died
people before things
smoke rings on the coffee table
funny bone, head, shoulders, knees and toes
eggs, shampoo, autumn wheat
white heat

all we had
our voices and our bodies                                        
white abyss
things in themselves
as such

Monday, February 2, 2015

The inbetween of the inbetween

What’s saving your life right now?
The closer we get to it
The more language deconstructs
Breathing as energy
The liminality of the body
“I’d rather be a cyborg than a goddess”
The body does not end at the skin
Matter is not a thing but a doing
Language has been granted too much power
I am an action (race, gender, sexuality are events and actions)
The meeting of bodies, matter, energy
The myth of choice
Window and mirror
Epiphanies are miracles
Everyone else is me
This isn’t a metaphor
This is literal
I can’t apprehend the spirit



“’I would rather be a cyborg than a goddess’: Becoming-Intersectonal in Assemblage Theory” by Jasbir Puar, an article that is an analysis of how race, class, gender, and sexuality affect embodied subjects.

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

Look, a White!

I say black. Dualism. White uncomfortable. I can’t account for that. Light is pale. It is enlightenment. It is a celestial body. Dark is arising from or showing evil traits. It is lacking knowledge or culture. It is not known or explored because of remoteness. It is not fair in complexion. Fair is free of obstacles.

“Language that feels hurtful is intended to exploit all the ways that you are present.”
Look! Who wrote this dictionary and named the animals. Who made the zoo.

Look! Who places. And who is placed— behind bars.
Look at who has had their place removed.
I’ve been lobotomized.

Name. Tag. You’re it!

You’re crazy. Stop writing about this.
I can’t, my love. I’m a mule.
Nobody wants to talk about it.

Am I from Africa or the islands?
Why can’t I sleep?

I say whiteness. I say systemic. I say stop. I say so repeatedly. Stop! I say. But I’m carried off anyway. I say STOP. I say colonialism. I say negation. I say no! I do not consent!

Afterwards, I Beat myself with a stick.” Internalized sharp. I feel.
“I don’t exist.” You look. I swallow. Your gaze whole.
You don’t really see me.
But I stare back.

I say, look! There’s one!


(Claudia Rankine) Citizen, page 49 for the first quote for definitions of light, dark and fair
(Bhanu Kapil) Schizophrene, pages 28, 32 for the last two quotes
(Zora Neale Hurston) “The black woman is the mule of the world.” “I feel most colored when I am thrown against a sharp white background.”