“Write your self. Your body must be heard.” Helene Cixous (1975)
How much of our wants
are manifestations of neglect?
Inside this somatic posturing,
a restless hustle,
our bodies are celestial.
Distillations of notional
constellations open and wide.
It is true: commitment is not exclusive to monogamy.
Come prepared.
Always dress your best
for the world may end.
Flashbacks are low-grade returns.
There is seduction in being loved
and always something you can learn
from an interruption.
A moment when clarity
finds you knowing.
Look how much you
love me. Little maps.
from Bruises by Leah Horlick
The clouds formed an amphitheater
over a city transformed, a super city.
Its atmosphere thick with performance
and domination outside its own limits.
Listen to the bubble pop—pop—pop.
Queering our gratification
becomes an American economic ritual
with historic reputations.
Golden greeds and lust deep
as the veins financing this spectacle.
Watch as ceremonies of repressed aggressions
become baptisms unfurling (catch and release).
Physical bodies manifesting—hands cupped—
entertainment as reward and pleasure,
a violence that feels good.
