gold does not rush to pay an arm & a leg for a dress form without arms or legs. and this is the quality of proportion. beyond the neighborhood and markets is a lake. below the fog, the blinding young. there is a story to tell. i sit in my cupboard of a room with hot water and listen for the codes. still waiting for the signal with a finger on the margin.
30 May 2009
11 May 2009
Lalopathy (excerpt)
churchlike, we laminate what light we have left over from the mints of these sorry gestures of veils: Evangeline is given as what we mean to say, although, often, only: a sigh; press. as for what we split with a tiny axe, suffered by crease of lip
what smokes, or faints in breaking as fog only can in soak exorcize lucidly.
as in sap, a wasp, what is meant by (a telescope in dust trees). ours a language like Evangeline, the weaver, unwed, with no made up country to be loosed unto, map lost and in the way she wanders there are words as they are, too hotly folded, fly buttoned, leather gloved. legendarily tremoring even in white surrenders they do not covet me, or take and return me: all the tracks back to meaning scrapped for the war (would sell for locomotion all the tender angles but those in one red wing, supple as an eardrum), no bait laid dark enough for the Trappist (to mean) when all that glows is and only privy to a cripple machinist; it was if we could lie well or swear to be unflooded,
but any soft place to convey is flooded. so from wing to reddening where Evangeline wanders toward a louder love as i toward and offer mercy sung like something that was sleeping stung and swell as with and am still as if asundering;
and the shroud, some storm mouth petaling straggler,
have no steal enough, no light eyed pilgrimage to their how and with what or certainty, in certainty:
I have only one but the last blue black fox heart. but even it does not have me.
and mary francis margaret anne marie rose and I in red and dark dresses and lighter ones passed knees for mass wherein the foyer a heavy chest we with bobby pins would lay our heads to clothe and purse our forms of dirty learning for the porcelain virgin erect whose obvious organ for faith ever snared we felt in blouses endangering and no scapular to seal what will become cases of egg teeth,
and for our brothers who had gun relieving in cotton unsurely would guess work and flee into arcades of bad words, their fifteen my twelve or thirteen and my figured meandered and was as a tub watched filling as to not rot the under or linoleum but I was not then for snails or back of hounds as much as for anne marie (pepper jelly), spent and sucked at cane and still can, of what little girls are made
and by caught in longer legs of someone’s catholic daughter
I mean by matthew often and rather latin water
to and in tall grasses and though wonder, lust, would not
by matthew suffocate my one and wither beggar flower,
so long as bays and totes its bruises,
no unfondeling or any mute trade,
no root entrance to a body myth, or gas lamp to study its funeral or drink for its sounds which are:
unable, unbear, un un bear, un uh, um, so as to, so tremble, want to your weight, , so as to your lithe, as we of with and sweat, no make, so we as and cannot be but and want of this, bear able, un bear, and um, so as to say to want to but no.
and by was set to Petal Organs played at times with craft and leapt for powders to skin my dream by waste and swallow our bliss’s blisters and by a stick shift clamoring went out into wet country and knew which veils to pick in the electric fences, after matthew came in black bags and supposing I as a potency would and did expect to nimbly capture valence for my own pink eyed march lion heat
but it was there, in the dark field lit by cattle belly, I dropped my mothers fathers voices bones, a drawl widowed in the grass with ones one good knife and Desiree in hunting shrouds her rubber boots too went and went in day to after spores split lips to shit and we both at no findings in straw or in the barns slow tearing of itself and ran back retracing I first and watched for cobrawater; no white foot for her or my voice at all in the placed I dropped I thought or she thought so shallowing, harbored black bags, went soundly soundless for all my losses were unto and meant for meadowlight and might would wait for words, though preyed over and over, some harshly, to wander back in their trailing gowns and be in some brutal arithmetic too cumbersome, as gun cotton delicately, and too nimble have I been toward what of their bodies is left, to say,
I want to with you in trembling; am after what you would be as so,
but like matthew, who to the war went sleeping and palely I went without my scapular to where I put a choir voice once and found it too savage to mean;
what smokes, or faints in breaking as fog only can in soak exorcize lucidly.
as in sap, a wasp, what is meant by (a telescope in dust trees). ours a language like Evangeline, the weaver, unwed, with no made up country to be loosed unto, map lost and in the way she wanders there are words as they are, too hotly folded, fly buttoned, leather gloved. legendarily tremoring even in white surrenders they do not covet me, or take and return me: all the tracks back to meaning scrapped for the war (would sell for locomotion all the tender angles but those in one red wing, supple as an eardrum), no bait laid dark enough for the Trappist (to mean) when all that glows is and only privy to a cripple machinist; it was if we could lie well or swear to be unflooded,
but any soft place to convey is flooded. so from wing to reddening where Evangeline wanders toward a louder love as i toward and offer mercy sung like something that was sleeping stung and swell as with and am still as if asundering;
and the shroud, some storm mouth petaling straggler,
have no steal enough, no light eyed pilgrimage to their how and with what or certainty, in certainty:
I have only one but the last blue black fox heart. but even it does not have me.
and mary francis margaret anne marie rose and I in red and dark dresses and lighter ones passed knees for mass wherein the foyer a heavy chest we with bobby pins would lay our heads to clothe and purse our forms of dirty learning for the porcelain virgin erect whose obvious organ for faith ever snared we felt in blouses endangering and no scapular to seal what will become cases of egg teeth,
and for our brothers who had gun relieving in cotton unsurely would guess work and flee into arcades of bad words, their fifteen my twelve or thirteen and my figured meandered and was as a tub watched filling as to not rot the under or linoleum but I was not then for snails or back of hounds as much as for anne marie (pepper jelly), spent and sucked at cane and still can, of what little girls are made
and by caught in longer legs of someone’s catholic daughter
I mean by matthew often and rather latin water
to and in tall grasses and though wonder, lust, would not
by matthew suffocate my one and wither beggar flower,
so long as bays and totes its bruises,
no unfondeling or any mute trade,
no root entrance to a body myth, or gas lamp to study its funeral or drink for its sounds which are:
unable, unbear, un un bear, un uh, um, so as to, so tremble, want to your weight, , so as to your lithe, as we of with and sweat, no make, so we as and cannot be but and want of this, bear able, un bear, and um, so as to say to want to but no.
and by was set to Petal Organs played at times with craft and leapt for powders to skin my dream by waste and swallow our bliss’s blisters and by a stick shift clamoring went out into wet country and knew which veils to pick in the electric fences, after matthew came in black bags and supposing I as a potency would and did expect to nimbly capture valence for my own pink eyed march lion heat
but it was there, in the dark field lit by cattle belly, I dropped my mothers fathers voices bones, a drawl widowed in the grass with ones one good knife and Desiree in hunting shrouds her rubber boots too went and went in day to after spores split lips to shit and we both at no findings in straw or in the barns slow tearing of itself and ran back retracing I first and watched for cobrawater; no white foot for her or my voice at all in the placed I dropped I thought or she thought so shallowing, harbored black bags, went soundly soundless for all my losses were unto and meant for meadowlight and might would wait for words, though preyed over and over, some harshly, to wander back in their trailing gowns and be in some brutal arithmetic too cumbersome, as gun cotton delicately, and too nimble have I been toward what of their bodies is left, to say,
I want to with you in trembling; am after what you would be as so,
but like matthew, who to the war went sleeping and palely I went without my scapular to where I put a choir voice once and found it too savage to mean;
05 April 2009
hold still teatime
dears: shall we sip tea and talk shop? what days are good for everyone? holdstillwords@gmail.com -jackqueline
02 April 2009
mandrake
a herd of heavy myths came out of the earth in chainsmoke. the crease of and lip. how syllables collect lithe ancestry; a masculine word, paradis(e), drawing in white the background music. allusions, no longer speak, sing to one another, walk in the mouth where shadows are best and keep. sake gathered mud, sunk, so in rocking back and forth, became free. a sound depression, medieval jaws of audiences and on to a better way of breaking. given ember. suffer. grace. suffer grace, build a mausoleum to catch the man o war. a washtub of taut skin on the opera's throat. its clear medicine, made of myrrh. a murmur made. a murmuring maid: a dame amphibious, symptoms of. surrendering. as if to wet birth the legend is to inhabit its night, take penance elegantly, grow coldblood. as isobel in moodlight offers, touch is an operation. pander, borrow, muscle a concise love, sewn over, thimbleless. execute brevity: spill laboratories potion beds. felt of piano. of stockings reprised. in deconstructing we string a harp. perform unravelledness. he said books will not wait on you as the marginalian and her minor choir spoon sick and white as temper. will to document. is of root, theater. to play write prayer, to corset its hairs. slumberous, locket a night shade and lay it to the sound.
01 April 2009
slip
search piece by piece through the eyepiece of your hush and zoom. while i lie cold on your glass slide. glove me, cunning and cellular with my electrons seduced & window skeletons wheeling specimen prayers.
unfurl my chromosomes.
30 March 2009
kalistae
persephone is keeping her beauty for me
in a black box. fetching from under the ground.
a wake for the winter fruit, its waxing collection of bloods.
the only notes you know are devils' tones, you
sound a ferocity. but isn't your sex an evening apple halved,
an algae bloom, dripped, as low light. no virgin merciless.
and what is left of you, anemones.
29 March 2009
section from Penthesilea
about necrophilia and the desire to be inside of. and if the body holds warm one last chance to make it. how common. when women die in sheets beside a spouse. on battlefields and racetracks, there is already so much musk, a smell of it, common law, cornerstone on top cornerstone, realities of privacy, people left to people. how the body holds grief. how one body holds another.
about honor, or respectful burial. preservation of the deceased. the ones that are counted and retrieved and the ones that are not. the propriety of the dressed. we want intact. we want the dead to look alive, we want lipstick and shoes on their feet. we do not highlight the failed parts, what was ruptured or torn. spend some time searching for another's limbs, there is a a necessary weight in lbs, the politics of loss.
about our body and the urge to restrict desire. what i feel i can do and what i feel i cannot. that the myth states Amazons maimed their male children and murdered lovers. how horny can these women be. how rough. a women feels fucked after taking it in the ass. but i wanted it as much as my partner. occurrence. there is a real cock in the mouth of that marble head. there is the way i am told my body should behave in bed. there is the urge to cut off my breasts.
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