Monthly Archives: December 2020

soft white damn

“the snow doesn’t give a soft white damn Whom it touches” — e.e. cummings / “XIX,” Viva

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felt slightly dirty (redux)

The Texture of His Body His fragrance remained in the room when he left, and she picked up notes of Ambien and gin. He turned into a dragon and blew smoke up his own ass: in this manner he floated … Continue reading

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lost and splintering

Idioteque, Montana Philanthropy feels more like idiopathic shill-anthropy in these waning days of the anthropocene. Cleave my heart on your plow, speed the ventricle asunder, and wave the cluster of veins, arteries and capillaries over your head. Oh what a … Continue reading

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snow day…

snow day… “It grieves me to think the dead won’t see them— these things we depend on, they disappear.” — Louise Glück / “The Night Migrations”

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parse the light

my heart distills my blood heliotrope looking for a sun a plantation of hateful verdigris factors out to go flow out big star not too far from severance runs rampant over my tripartite welcome parse the light hiding from the … Continue reading

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canons and sitars

Tinctures It’s the time for auxiliary malarial canons and sitars. Thee minute for surgical mask missiles and tinctures of Ayahuasca. “So this is insanity. How interesting. What happens next?” — Jerzy Kosiński

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sasparilla and lingonberry

Tergiversation Be apostate? No! That’s better. I’m listening to DakhaBrakha doing “Шлях.” I hope to die in the war of pi twisty too in scupper loo to pass on grass of supper stash and this again to sassafras, sasparilla, and … Continue reading

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pregnant antediluvian moment

Hortensia Extremely primitive or outmoded is what he called me, as if what I say and do really matters. I was born in Chickamaw with an archery practice arrow through my foot. There were groups of ladies in peculiar Neo-Gothic … Continue reading

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a bloodless moment

Candent Night Terror The long slog through the wasteland… and then a sylph — beatific, beauteous, wanton, and salacious all at once — appears hovering over the horizon line. I’m unsure about scale I can’t tell her true size: hummingbird-like … Continue reading

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closed, upturned fist

Two Views of December 11 1. Today Nothing says “thank you for cooking breakfast” like not saying “thank you,” and walking away like you expected it all along; and then not even offering to help with the washing of the … Continue reading

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