x + y =

AN ARMY OF LOVERS SHALL NOT FAIL – title on cover of The Lesbian Tide, Apr. 1973

Road to the Ranch, 1964, Georgia O’Keeffe

this feeling of war is different from other war feelings I’ve had.
it is a conscious scan of knowing where the exits are located.
it is a wanting of quiet and stillness
inside all this (up)loaded aggression.
it is a particular kind of collaborated knowing.

bodies bend closer in fantasies without violence.
a genre of collected mundane details:
dishes in the sink
airport air thick with fancy perfume
the memory of water.

I study nothing, obviously.
I like that space
in between.
crowded spaces. public spaces.
being ignored in isolation.

strictly speaking, we think we know
what is happening
because we study history.
if we believe we are more manipulated today,
do we fulfill our own prophesies?

block the exits

You better just enjoy the luxury of sympathy / If that’s a luxury you have — Built to Spill

A Matter of Life and Death (Michael Powell & Emeric Pressburger, 1946)

there is writing on the wall
but I don’t yet know what language of seizure —
of belief, suspension finds a soft corner

confidence is its own risk and reward
these longer days hinge on construction of narratives
a clever distraction from observing the narrator

listening is an appearance of doing nothing

when you are poor you learn how to end things
which is better than getting carried away
or in too deep, you must reserve your trust

even trees get tired of being predictable
show me extraordinary in this real-life panic scenario
then, intimately connect the sky to water like an exquisite corpse

anger and fear make us feel full

the ad said I needed magnesium harvested from the ocean
I want that kind of specificity right now
to notice more than anonymous eroticism

and recognizing yourself in that loop
in memorandum of understanding
a future tense — the feel of fist in mouth

this may be the only place I feel alive

Paul Schutzer, birds on barbed wire strung atop the Berlin Wall, January 1962

 

This may be the exact amount of now that I can continuously absorb.

deposits of memories make a body
or a pulpit

Despondence, according to plan, is a fevered imagination.

should I revise, again
or stay as is

After all, even light has its own form of pollution.

 

due north

“I love you, I hate you” (digital drawing collage) Elissaveta Zerdeva

I walked in the direction the bus takes to get me home.
A non-direct route through neighborhoods where curtains hold space
for sleeping cats. Each intersection an opportunity to wait within
a landscape of past lovers reminding how time renews.
Objects in such a mirror are closer than they appear.
Curved to reflect light outward, these old selves diverged.

I am learning to trust and when to leave
a refrain from speculation
and a practice of conscientious objection.
Just past the corners of trees, a distance
due west, urban sounds echo infinite.
Curated to reflect disappearance, I find home.