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.”

Monday, January 19, 2015


I have a condition
I’m carrying the before
I’m a day spent rocking
I’m hanging due
I see a face reflected in a mirror but
I only recognize mySelf by the black lines on My pale palm

lonely and sparse

I’m intense and fleeting
You are happy
We are driven by intuition
between the poles
suburbia split Me up into these Persons
spit Me up into the loop of refresh so

We are looking out of My eyes in the mirror
I look at You and
You look at Me We
are looking into and out of each other

Our net is flung out
interweb in the breeze
charlotte’s institution
We look down alleys
and We see pink nail beds and big lips
And We write ourSelves with teeth that glow in the dark
Proving that

You shouldn’t worry
the body is matter
my black matter is a stone

We don’t worry about the future
Our web is flung far out
Our eyes see black
see back and mine onyx

I’m making

Sunday, November 16, 2014


I am a bulb
Slid from the body
Numb with ease
Hedonist headlong

Unshackled from my me
I am writing
I am black and blue so
I am writing so that
I will survive pointlessness

Smiling and bowing
Grimacing and ecstatic
Bent over beside the electric sun’s
Cocaine white light
In a moment
I’m lying
Thinking about the
Lake and hopelessly full