Friday, June 22, 2007

international trash sonnet

Moving house, I found this poem at the bottom of a drawer of papers...I think it's from around 2004:

I rose in the morning: begin, and cough you up.
Break what? one small goal - oppress me or write.
I have broken the metallic thread which holds you.
I return to my bed and say that my heart
Is only irritated OR a beautiful
machine made of human bones and a camera
(origin of adoration - Hindu [Indian] - normative)
I hod your book behind Djuna's in the library
[bizarre or graceful worship / forced complicity]
The queen seemed more to penetrate today than haunt;
Cunnilingus is more normal, it's protected,
Or - I want to say - it is almost like singing - or - ?
What the procedure predicts, the procedure writes, &
When I spat you out, I thought only I would die.

Saturday, June 09, 2007