drinking
vinegar
writing in its least creative form
i
i should write an essay about forgetting
in its least creative form
i see when I’ve lost my way back
when the light turns on boredom
i am worried that our bodies are not safe
at the logical one last word that i lost
i felt starry eyed for hours
i am not frightened or ever eternal
my life will end in a hand blown bottle
in an empty room
The colors purple and green penetrate
the glass of mirrors is bored
secrets in the cupboard
ii
the secrets say somethings about themselves
in the cupboard i am amazed by the birds hiding
highway signs tell us about another flat mile
at noon the inch of sunlight drives over it
she writes and much of it is bad news
but she felt starry eyed for hours before it happened
words that I can’t hold are swept into salt
hunting the words in deep freeze
no noise drops heart beats
the seeds press into the skull
gorging on pills and food
while I walk underground
living thoughts pile up
iii
without a pause on its tongue
i wonder if the night is trying to cry
it wears emotion likes choirs and windows
when yesterday was over i heard echoes
of camille margaret and lillian
we came as one expanding our parade
with last minute stars erupting
and technology amusing us
but let the peasants eat moldy bread
and let them chain smoke cigarettes
and let their instincts keep them alive
last thoughts pile up
you will drink vinegar out of my voice
bleached light
i am figuring out how to
die. over here. a distance
of threads spun a chatter
developing. rapture. and texture
typing a novel. in an empty chair
fatigue wringing out fingertips.
the struggle researches blood
there lies a stained finger.
the skull awakens to a repetition
bending time. rivers of plastic
and rust quiet. sky squaring
corners of balloons.
another frantic field explodes
chatters into chatter.
apples rot. day to day
a shadow. stilled by a shadow
brings blue. news
to the still sculpture breathing.
lost in a breast in bleached light
cancer thinks. thought impressions
push time onto horoscopes close
to brutal force the flat and muted baby.
a latin duet
the clones on the flat lands
disrobed the moon
breathless and beginning to form
we are elements of the center
where the words never touch
we are tied to the rock
the sky is at the bottom
if emptiness breaks open
as it restrains
another idea
a latin duet calculates wisdom
the stone lays on its side
and couldn’t balance its pain
on our foreheads
the world is a forgotten fruit
they have locked us in
to an excruciating absence
in the middle of lost
prisoners’ patience sealing
up tears voices say
once it never stops
in the last days what is left
behind us is not there
television details
in the background
the apples
taste the final minute
love was skin
pressed against selfies
the loss of childhood
broke open
what is
unnamed told to stand
in broken pieces
turning our bodies
to fire hangs
blue my father’s blood
brought back the spirits
interrupting pain
its confusion
in the fungus of sleep
i was the child
searching for my elbows
i contradicted
the solid walking program
time escapes with symptoms
i wear my hair
broken 26 years later
television details
the current emotion
confined to equations
your sadness
blew my heart out
causes of death
dead meat
before it died
it never moved
the frogs
sang to their hearts
water followed in sips
like ancient stink
birds re-arranged the hills
Mary Kasimor who has been writing poetry for many years,
considers her work experimental. Her recent poetry collections are The Landfill Dancers
(BlazeVox Books 2014), Saint Pink
(Moria Books 2015), The Prometheus Collage (Locofo Press 2017), Nature Store (Dancing Girl Press 2017) Drink Me (BlazeVox Books 2019), and Disrobing Iris (above ground press 2019). Her poetry has been
published in many journals, including Word For/Word, Touch the Donkey, Posit,
Human Repair Kit, Arteidolia (collaboration with Susan Lewis), and Otoliths.
writing in its least creative form
i
i should write an essay about forgetting
in its least creative form
i see when I’ve lost my way back
when the light turns on boredom
i am worried that our bodies are not safe
at the logical one last word that i lost
i felt starry eyed for hours
i am not frightened or ever eternal
my life will end in a hand blown bottle
in an empty room
The colors purple and green penetrate
the glass of mirrors is bored
secrets in the cupboard
ii
the secrets say somethings about themselves
in the cupboard i am amazed by the birds hiding
highway signs tell us about another flat mile
at noon the inch of sunlight drives over it
she writes and much of it is bad news
but she felt starry eyed for hours before it happened
words that I can’t hold are swept into salt
hunting the words in deep freeze
no noise drops heart beats
the seeds press into the skull
gorging on pills and food
while I walk underground
living thoughts pile up
iii
without a pause on its tongue
i wonder if the night is trying to cry
it wears emotion likes choirs and windows
when yesterday was over i heard echoes
of camille margaret and lillian
we came as one expanding our parade
with last minute stars erupting
and technology amusing us
but let the peasants eat moldy bread
and let them chain smoke cigarettes
and let their instincts keep them alive
last thoughts pile up
you will drink vinegar out of my voice
bleached light
i am figuring out how to
die. over here. a distance
of threads spun a chatter
developing. rapture. and texture
typing a novel. in an empty chair
fatigue wringing out fingertips.
the struggle researches blood
there lies a stained finger.
the skull awakens to a repetition
bending time. rivers of plastic
and rust quiet. sky squaring
corners of balloons.
another frantic field explodes
chatters into chatter.
apples rot. day to day
a shadow. stilled by a shadow
brings blue. news
to the still sculpture breathing.
lost in a breast in bleached light
cancer thinks. thought impressions
push time onto horoscopes close
to brutal force the flat and muted baby.
a latin duet
the clones on the flat lands
disrobed the moon
breathless and beginning to form
we are elements of the center
where the words never touch
we are tied to the rock
the sky is at the bottom
if emptiness breaks open
as it restrains
another idea
a latin duet calculates wisdom
the stone lays on its side
and couldn’t balance its pain
on our foreheads
the world is a forgotten fruit
they have locked us in
to an excruciating absence
in the middle of lost
prisoners’ patience sealing
up tears voices say
once it never stops
in the last days what is left
behind us is not there
television details
in the background
the apples
taste the final minute
love was skin
pressed against selfies
the loss of childhood
broke open
what is
unnamed told to stand
in broken pieces
turning our bodies
to fire hangs
blue my father’s blood
brought back the spirits
interrupting pain
its confusion
in the fungus of sleep
i was the child
searching for my elbows
i contradicted
the solid walking program
time escapes with symptoms
i wear my hair
broken 26 years later
television details
the current emotion
confined to equations
your sadness
blew my heart out
causes of death
dead meat
before it died
it never moved
the frogs
sang to their hearts
water followed in sips
like ancient stink
birds re-arranged the hills
