Now you see me, now
you don’t. I’m lost to myself.
Even I can’t see
me. These are the places I
lived. This is the art I made.
What I’m Reading:
“Artists manifested themselves in art, not the world, so humans could encounter them there, forever. People could return to books at any time and find them right there, those burning souls, their words as bright as the day they were written.”
—Sheila Heti / Pure Colour
ain’t no planet b
we made planet a real sick
wildfires spewing
fire tornadoes miles high
while oceans acidify
What I’m Reading:
“A writer doesn’t owe a reader hope—the only obligation is honesty . . . “
— Bill McKibben / Falter
Prune my apple tree—
Possum-tailed blind, hedgehog round,
Dandelion free.
What I’m Reading:
“First day of war.
Rockets, not birds, whizzed by the window in
the morning.”
— Ludmila Khersonsky / “First Day of War”
plastic shovel in hand
shots whizz by my head
it’s hard to breathe and run this fast
i strike a saintly pose
i’m a pin cushion i’m a pineapple
i’m a porcupine undone
arrows are an occupational hazard
tied up waiting for the rainy season
in a parched and rocky land
call me on tuesday
i’ll be out by thursday
What I’m reading:
“I’m the uncrowned king of the insomniacs
Who still fights his ghosts with a sword…”
— Charles Simic / “About Myself”
i.
los minutos pasan
quedan dos
and then there was a multifoliate
a multiplicity, a multivariate, a
multiplication that started
with two
but here in this space, in this
void there is only one
only one that replicates
and that must suffice
ii.
i passed the time
i made some marks
i lived it
monochromatically
with an absence of angst
it was a way
of passing through life
What I’m Reading:
“Climate change has become such a familiar term that we tend to read past it—it’s part of our mental furniture, like urban sprawl or gun violence.”
— Bill McKibben / Falter
What I’m Reading:
“Fame is a bucket of eyes.”
— Victoria Chang / “Late Wonders”
Darkness envelops the visit
from my dead father. He says psychic
automatism betrayed him—the paranoiac
critical debased him. We count
the shadows of ghosts untethered
from the sheets over their heads—
one forgot to cut the eyeholes out—
a blind ghost singing off-key
from a torn hymnal. We cram
communion hosts in our maws—
this batch overcooked / oversalted—
our holy pockets full then empty. We wade
ankle deep in wafers to the vestry.
It’s snowing outside. We sink through
the floor. We forget what we’ve forgotten.
What I’m Reading:
“If Justice Alito wants you to be governed by the laws of the 17th century, you should take a close look at that century. Is that when you want to live?”
— Margaret Atwood / “I Invented Gilead. The Supreme Court Is Making It Real”
Fanfare / stiff hairs
this is my answer—
dog whiskers!
& where to find beers?
I was once in Baku—
found it familiar—
sat down on Mount Bazardüzü,
& heard the plash of the Caspian Sea.
I married a sturgeon.
Now I’m knee-deep in caviar—
& navel gazing
as the world burns.
So a fanfare for nose hairs!
Pass the libations—
Gabriel’s horn is on autoplay loop
& I ain’t listening no mo’.
What I’m Reading:
“I want to staple
myself to a passing cloud
so I am blameless for the war.”
— Victoria Chang / “How It Happens”
sadness and fury
and also, remarkably, hope
but it fades
oh it fades
in the haze
at the hot edge
of 1000 ppm
20 feet of water coming
best learn to swim
best learn to row
best to prep
yr rocket
to nowheres
now
What I’m listening to:
“So this is for when you feel happy
And this is for when you feel sad
And this is for when you feel
Nothing”
— Love and Rockets / “Haunted”
Under the influence of another tongue
Under the influence of a glass in shards
Under the influence of a perpetual pandemic
Under the influence of a second booster
Under the influence of crass appeal
Under the influence of social regression
Under the influence of climate change
Under the influence of a fata morgana
Follow the blinders
The blindness
The blind
What I’m Reading:
“During the pandemic
we are a forest—trees
standing alone together.”
— Dunya Mikhail / “Tablets VI”
thee istsfor manity reader 