modest pink blaze

Tuesday / Wednesday

Tuesday: Happy Face

I trap my shadow.
I pin it by footpad to the concrete.
I crush it.

Last night’s mark,
A happy face not yet faded,
Smiles on the interior of my wrist.

Happiness wanes
At the terminal point
Of the imagined slice.

Wednesday: Fruiting Zen Magnolia

Have you ever seen the effrontery
Of the magnolia fruit?

Before it bursts open, it appears as engorged
Labia pressed shut in a modest pink blaze.

Is it Magnolia acuminata or Magnolia
Zenii whose fruit discomfits me,
On a desultory Wednesday
Morning, in my mourning black shoes?

It unsheathes itself in delirium —

An effulgence of unhooded clitorises!

They burn my face
Engorged with life.

A wild orgiastic sight
In a moment so unsettling,
So thoroughly disorienting,

A tectonic change of mood:


And they sat—as though paralysis preceding death
Had nailed them there. The track bent south.
I saw her pulsing crotch … the lice rooted in that baby’s hair.”

—Louise Glück / “The Chicago Train”

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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