Tag Archives: Drama is the Opiate of the Masses

in my neighborhood

Posted on December 9, 2021 by istsfor manity

At the end of the film I’m on my back staring at the night sky… The man who helped me is lying nearby—his mouth bloody… We’re lost in a thick fog of tear gas—the sky disappears above us—the occupation failed… … Continue reading →

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in my neighborhood

Posted on December 7, 2021 by istsfor manity

You wear your indecision well. Your coterie of suitors vexed— Working out your complex geometry. Your heart a cipher— Hermetic / unbreakable. “I want to be free to try things that don’t make sense yet. I put materials together that … Continue reading →

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she was desirous

Posted on December 3, 2021 by istsfor manity

Clodomira’s Writing Block She wanted to stab her writing hand, instead she focused on the portrait of Fidel Castro on the wall. She was long accustomed to falling into a meditative state by staring at Fidel’s philtrum. It was oddly … Continue reading →

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who no one

Posted on December 1, 2021 by istsfor manity

The Dry Descent (redux) He hears a cry—the lamentation of a dying man. He turns, strains, to see. Who? No one. He staggers on scree and falls heavy on his back; his poles useless after two thousand miles. The sky … Continue reading →

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the word piles

Posted on November 30, 2021 by istsfor manity

the heebie jeebies (redux) this is about a poet who writes bird poems —without birds appearing in said poems mouth breathers and thirteen year old prostitutes often appear crying artillery shots echo in the blue distance the poet is a … Continue reading →

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sour broiling turkey

Posted on November 25, 2021 by istsfor manity

Hegemonic Extirpation Day Blues A litter of puppies feeding in the corner of the living room. Dried shit streaked on the bathroom towels. The, too-early, Christmas tree is canted and some of the ornaments are unfurling their covers revealing the … Continue reading →

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white bread m.o.r.

Posted on November 22, 2021 by istsfor manity

Bluetoothing the Novel Maple bacon cheddar pizza, I say, repeating what she just said to me. I need a snack soon, she says. A swoony-jazzy song plays like it’s 1967—remember the smarmy song playing in The Graduate when Bancroft is … Continue reading →

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flecky eyefuls jaundice

Posted on November 21, 2021 by istsfor manity

What You Said at N+15 What could I possibly say when you say (backhand): it’s you. I don’t know if you’re talking twang, talking to those radicals, or if you’re addressing me. Somehow, judging by the tonsure of your vole, … Continue reading →

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the original skin

Posted on November 19, 2021 by istsfor manity

Writing Us into Existence I. He took off his shoes and the right pinkie was exposed — nude, malformed, and smelling like Limburger from six feet away. A couple of wiry hairs arcing over the sock. She, on the other … Continue reading →

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in my neighborhood

Posted on November 17, 2021 by istsfor manity

You are like the tuber of calcaneous, necessary but non-articulating… Without you there is no ambulating me… The things you said to me in your gasps and low moans: “They transferred me to room 15…” “It’s the same to die … Continue reading →

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