Solidarity Texts

Used, 2017.

no way the wars of strangers turn flowers into my fingers pinch

this flow(er) cap the shower’s cold wet and purr

I blow its flows thru rusty pipes my phone’s a pipe I smoke it like that you like that

the news

the news

the news

(a miracle)

Pages extracted from Red Sennelier Carnet, October 2016/January 2017, ink, pastels, and watercolors, 12" x 4".

If Trump were a poem what form would he take? For instance, when I think

of Obama, I think of the sonnet — controlled, passionate and, like all good poetry,

revelatory. The limerick comes to mind re Trump but that’s probably too easy and obvious.

If a form doesn’t exist, perhaps he calls for a new form. What would it look like? What

would we call it?

First

learning to swim                    a cap flying off

a bite of watermelon waving   at the planes
facing                            the intermittent light

The History of Being Sche
                                       Keyword: Iridescence

The Tansy Beetle, almost extinct, lives only in Tansy
plants. Victorians loved their shiny iridescent wings

How in the wander: a held note

Story of O: they say it turned

Wander into that articulation: resonance

Say the times in which we are making: now

Reading the lines that enter heads: about other bodies

The time is out of joint: you’ve heard this before

that we

are swallowed in the cosmos

in the great and bilious sea

in the leviathan

in its gut, we now

feel the muscles of the cosmos,

the tides, the tongue that

forces us like saliva