My Kathy Acker

By | 25 June 2023

(Corymbia citriodora)

I’m by the Lake
reading Jackie Wang’s
grieving turn away from
another body of water when I
cross the bridge turn away from
this collection
of spent vessels still
coursing while a black
swan aerates its middle down
stream. I leave the swan red mouth-

ed into its host
body and walk up the
hill to visit My Kathy Acker.
There are a few around the neigh-
bourhood but this is the original and
the best. She is a
french bulldog in stat-
ure relative to nearby tower-
ing standards and smooth all
muscle body been building here

for quite some time
adjacent to this
forever time waterway.
She stands in perpetual stre-
tch one dominant limb—a trunk
—away from the
body of the Lake as if
a missive poised above her head.
My Kathy Acker could make
me a tree hugger yet. She is glorious

strong with
smooth weather-
ed skin pastel pinks a uterus—but we
and blues scribbly veins won’t get into essentials
indicative of the presence of —they preamble up the vent-
ricle vertical non-stretching arm
pockmarks down her northern most side.

She is the living
embodiment of pres-
ervation of erosion. My
own private Kathy Acker is
a limb-loosener when the breeze

fondles gently her lanc-
eolate leaves island oil glands sweating lemon-scented
semes corpuscular into
mass bulging as when freshly baked
bread escapes the score line. A whole matrix of

her lattice in the attic
of this matriarch—but we
won’t get into essentials—each
bulge a conjunction to the built en-
vironment. If, but, and…I cross her and

observe the breakdown of language
at angles.

How to reconcile the
fact of this glory
as a failing?

My Kathy Acker is not
mine and I repeat
this mantra to

This entry was posted in TMLYMI v6 and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related work:

Comments are closed.