#Americans #LanguagePoetry #Women #FreeVerse
Ventriloquy is the mother tongue. Can you colonize rejection by phrasing your request, “Me want?”
The very flatness of portraits makes for nostalgia in the connoisseur. Here’s the latest
You may “have” sex— but those round sink—holes beneath the off—ramps, scabbed with whatever
Complex systems can arise from simple rules. It’s not that we want to survive, it’s that we’ve been drugged
The doll told me to exist. It said, “Hypnotize yourself.” It said time would be transfixed.
A career in vestige management. A dream job back—engineering shifts in salience. I’m so far
You’re it. It is (you are) an error with an arsenal of disguises,
Shooting pleasures Ok’d by My being seen For Or as
A merchant is probing for us with his chintz curtain effect. *
spider on the cold expanse of glass, three stories high rests intently and so purely alone. I’m not like that!
Discomfort marks the boundary. One early symptom was the boundary… The invention of hunger. I could use energy. To serve.
We know the story. She turns back to find her trail devoured by birds. The years; the
“must represent the governess for, of course, the creature itsel… could not inspire such terror.” staring at me fixedly, no trace of recognition.
What if I were turned on by seemi… or “extrapolate?” What if I maneuvered conversation… words? Perhaps the excitement would come…
If sadness is akin to patience, we’re back! Pattern recognition was our first response