I.

your arrival was a kind
of heliography 
you came with the sunrise:
a seven hour process that set
the platetone 
you, the lavender 
oil laid down
to wipe away the steely
toned posterior 
of my ambivalence
now turned
gooey.



the                      scientific                      sensation
of               a               chemical                  process 
meant               to                    cure                    the
image                            in                                 time 
taken           here          as             the           blood
and                               scat                               that 
enveloped              your              body               in 
protective                       bitumen                       to 
deflect              the               world’s             input 
turned              over               to              sunlight; 
your                       image—angel                       of 
history.                                   






face turned oblique 
in your mother’s channel
you don’t physically look to/like my past 
as in, he never gave you your 
bio/features, but
he gave you your name; or rather i
rudely interrupted
the etiquette of 
evolution and 
inheritance to say:
‘here kid, have this but not
this.’


genderless is everyone’s first 
experience, a narrow canal—
head long and nameless
—through which the world
passes and then truly distorts:
both thiiin and thennn.
sibilant: a hissing speech
sound made by forming
a small gap between
the tongue and the back 
of the upper row of
teeth.


II.

where once ‘it’ was 
derogatory for ‘infant’
new forms of address as ‘they’ 
render subjects as p-l-u-r-a-l.
the impression of multiple scenes onto 
celluloid where metaphor means
transportation; birth carrying one
domain of experience towards the other
so that we walk around as hot cases DIY
build-at-home-drones
—talking ourselves into
motion.

fruitful           when             applied                  to
humanity
doesn’t                          mean                          only
physical                                           reproduction; 
it           refers            to            the            process    
of                                                                   mental
                                                  conception
which              i             take            to            mean
my                           cocreation                            of 
                                       you 
inside                                                        another’s
                                      womb.

how would saint 
augustine
of hippo have felt
in the fourth-hundred 
year after christ’s 
demise that by adding 
one-thousand-
and-six-hundred more 
we arrive at a place
where his word is
dreamed up in sin’s common 
currency.

children are mentally 
conceived of daily
coined through cordoned cash
flows that quip 
subjective substances, 
inheritances self- 
insemination in bedrooms; 
rewritings of ‘fruitful’
from fruity as in nutty as in mad 
to ‘fruitful’ as in elected vagrant
—a bird straying from its migratory route,
fecund.
III.

i played you mozart once
while in utero—
does the fact of all the
exposure to
feminist folk lore 
undo the intellect 
you were due
if mozart were 
more heavily rotated?
spin another 
crumpled sucker
punch.


music                      selection                               is
a              matter              of              compromise 
in                                this                              house
                         micro-organism of                          
the present                              
rearranging                    our                     feelings 
towards the past ;                            
do what you 
wanna dooo
be who you 
wanna beeee
yeea-aah.
discipline plays like a 
continuous record, 
we stick to the score 
where it counts.
where poets were the early 
internet, we carry boundaries 
of the plot manually
little soldier crabs 
crumbs of bread scattered 
throughout the house
rearranging your temperament— 
seasonally.

your intuition plays out
like a chorus 
your defiance repeats in
choreography
we play into dynamic 
movement patterns of 
frustration bump into 
prolonged affection; 
we embrace to meet 
through sound and 
heat—heartbeat
pulses.


IV.

just like a poem is a 
machine made out of 
sounds, pronouns 
human subjects are
born through 
the detection of sonars; 
rangings of sneakers
their squeaks on 
linoleum next to
the tipping point 
of stilettos: écriture
féminine.


you                  are                  a               blueprint:
a                   variant                  of                   nilak 
bluish         pansy         of         psychogeography 
rewrit.