bil 3arabi: 6 poems by Sara Saleh

Dedication She asks me why I don’t write in Arabic. “You’re Arab, no?” “Eh, mbala … but …” I try, more question than statement. “I am … but …” Always a disclaimer. What I want to say, “What does it …

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Tell Me Like You Mean It 3

In curating this chapbook I’m not sure I feel closer to answering these questions: certainly they are never stagnant … But I do feel closer to poetry’s resistance to answer these questions, which does circle back to some kind of answer to my last question – we return to poetry not because we have an answer, but instead return in a process of regeneration.

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Birth-Controlled Dyke

Butter me up with hormone heresy Butter me up, butterfuck so I don’t get battered in the street consequence evaporates like dormant spiders in crumpets doubling bubbling toilet troubles two-minute eternity in a piss-fingered cubicle where our futures sweat with …

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great artesian nowhere

we live on liquified pastures on thylacine-skin print blown in from the curved backs of armchairs hung on walls in gully-dust paintings in the saturn-rings of wine glass bottoms upon the lips of drooling escarpments where sandstone sponge seeps wet-season …

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commute aka I need a haircut

convince yourself into modes of wistfulness such an al line waiting for the 8.13 listening to john talabot’s 2012 house release fIN play recurring witness to the two sticks of the bolte origins in burial imagined but more fecund & …

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Her mother thinks she’s a lesbian

Mother: those books Daughter: which ones? Mother: feminist ones Daughter: seriously? Mother: you’re feminist? Daughter: no, it’s white1 Mother: your books are about feminism Daughter: half of them are by men Mother: what about Bad Feminist Daughter: that’s Roxane Gay …

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Elegy for Solid Snake 3.1

The Siberian desert is the first shock: that it’s a desert, green, inhabited, malleable. Now there is a shot of a transport ship: we become cinematic. Talk then about consumption, thinghood itself as a battleground. We are returning to the …

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eat the rich

rich woman
 rich woman

 I will eat your t o n g u e I will eat your t o n g u e t o n g u e
 t o n g u e g u e g …

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‘Three dots, pending text.’

Three dots, pending text. My weather is all out of alignment. The housing bubble is loosing sleep, rapidly, and I’ve moved onto domesticated swamplands. The backyard is made of concrete. My weather is all out of alignment. To explore the …

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Forbid talk Hong Kong issu

Hi mate can tell you somethi- there are alot of on the 30th anniver- [picture: man against tanks] within an hour it so i printed and it went i kept putting ended up putting it takes about 5 -10 i …

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the feeling of holding a fight in your hands

there is always the question of the tackle. officially: all the contours are drawn around possession. every time the swans score at home a young-professional waves a flag for that’s not metaphor; they’re gameday partners. what’s a national league …

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New Year’s Eve in Tasmania

that summer of 2002 on the eve of the new year I was in Tasmania sipping red wine with a priest and my father in a caravan park his name (the priest’s not my father’s) was Felix, or Sebastian, something …

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