33.1: CC – THE REMIXES
Endless, Beautiful, Exact
Paradise is here on a beach of bones a bell fracturing air. This is no document of barbarism of clotted blood and glowing flesh its shine too bright for too long. It is seeking resonance, the broken things, falling sunflowers, …
Posted in 33.1: CC - THE REMIXES Comments OffThe Parts That Poets Favour
Face Back Chest Thighs Heart Hand Blood Hand Thighs Palm Thigh Bones Genitals Ankle Bones Tongue Head Womb Nose Egg Nose Nose Eye Lip Iris Tongue Throat Ears Lip Lips Hair Mouth Nails Foot Face Body Blood Flesh Bones Lymph …
Posted in 33.1: CC - THE REMIXES Leave a commentDialogue Reply
1. Absence makes the heart go in spite of itself. I lack. Dare not to think it. Tried the word– slightly ajar— a barbarity larger than the house entire holding everything together Howl————- Howl———- Hello heavy with antiques, shoes, carts …
Posted in 33.1: CC - THE REMIXES Leave a commentStill Life
You enter the house but as an actor A photographer in Bentleigh East Likes technology but LOVES people You kiss me once and try the word—love. I lack, unlike the others, a menagerie of identities. Photographs of air surround me. …
Posted in 33.1: CC - THE REMIXES Leave a commentat exactly 9pm
do all corner shops have to die with peeling skin and rusted chairs, shadows where Christmas lights once rested and spread magic for ice-cream, car-ride-kids? I am convinced the new moon was shot there like a bullet streaking through clouds …
BLACK & WHITE LITANY
He is convinced his bullet points are monochrome new moons when all’s said and undone. He walks through a red door larger than the house entire, When it grew dark we cried , the cry of the godforsaken gull
Posted in 33.1: CC - THE REMIXES 1 CommentDogs in space (Remix)
Then somewhere in a kitten comes the lonely panic. The people are a people. The skin was of the dogs and the old woman greeting the wind, the noise. Then the others cross the dogs, their backpacks for viewing. It …
Posted in 33.1: CC - THE REMIXES Leave a commentCommon I (DISCO REMIX)
I lack, unlike the others, a menagerie of identities. I was a bright-eyed ingénue at the agency after-party, coked-up, Scarlatti played his cement rib, the tulips were thoroughly roasted, narcotic, terse. Who was Allen Ginsberg? (The incline runs to golden …
ZANE’S ORBITAL BRIDE TAKES A BULLET IN THE INTERIOR: Infinite Chest Scene
fifteen degrees scratching but not a lot you enter but not a lot the stranger looks back but not a lot toward three windows but not many slightly ajar but only short the frame becomes a house but only one …
Posted in 33.1: CC - THE REMIXES Leave a commentDOGS IN SPACE 2
Somewhere in Patagonia, to the lonely panic of the pedestrian lights an old woman with a wooden axe carries a cart, vacant as dreams. At the corner shop, peeling skin with one eye, she stops three legs perched on something …
Posted in 33.1: CC - THE REMIXES Leave a commentINADEQUATE STOVETOP (REMIX)
i lap your macadamia stroll i espy the roof rack of the world i try on sunglasses, a sign of your formal awareness anyway you’re bubbly, becalmed as wool i find in my head no tartan gift wrap i fuck …
Dogs in Space (Remix)
In Patagonia: an axe, a kitten, a street The closed storefronts: vacant as traffic lights An absence: barely dawn On her peeling skin: dogs begin to greet her Something terrible: a wooden cart with one wheel shrieking Backpacks: stuffed with …
corduroy linesman
for pascAlle ginsbürt when i was six years old my mother made a corduroy cover for my tongue / got me to stand in front of the mirror and repeat the word ‘manage’ until saliva had fully impregnated its …
Posted in 33.1: CC - THE REMIXES Leave a comment
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