Word Thief

To Julian
(can I call you Julian?
Mx. Brolaski?
“????? Brolaski?”
In good faith I will call you Julian,
I hope that is ok)

i heard you are lonely
thought i was reading theory
disguised as
poetry
with the density
of a baked corn cake
like a kernal about to pop
on the fire

i took
a fine toothed comb thru
yr words and thought
i could crack them like eggs
i put my ear to the paper
and the words hissed at
me

in yr loneliness
i noticed
wanting to be wanted
and not not wanting to be wanted
as not not not a person

you said
you are not interested
in waiting
to be seen by me
but the nature of
desire
is that it orrsteps
and so you steal what
you are afraid
is not
already yours
the same way that i move
towards
you

you are word hungry
conjure many magical beasts
gods and goddesses
genders and ungenders
you want to be and are
of a mongrelitude
a self-constitution that
resists assimilation
but is maybe still bitter
or ambivalent
about it

you use older words
so many words
too many words
i have to write a
poem by poem translation
fueled by yr
wandering circumlocution
but
some dictionaries have already lost
words exploded by
the flame of observation

a nod to Hildegard
prosecuted for
brilliance and
polyglot
i know you have many mouths
many hands
many feet
in different corners
spread like a tanned skin
who shrivels itself
to spite the hunter

you said
all of our
psychological problems
manifest in writing
but also ask
what if what there was
to record in you
was suthing in you
and i think about
self-constitution
a greeting
a meeting
discovery
here where i read
my guts like tea leaves
and write them
from the inkwells
in my eyes
and hope that someone
(you)
might find some kinship
or for a moment
see yourself as
you want to be seen

what if i said
this place we meet
on paper
is exactly where we
were meant to*

Untitled

purposefully dispossessed thoughts
poured into thin conifer needle capsules, pungent and bright
plucked from the ether to make a nesting crown
to bring it home
to make a home
shrinking diadem to
earth down repurposed
a room sized roost
a big enough bed to lay in
but not to escape the noise
slow to expand
sped up to contract
when left in remiss
daggers at the temples
a speed
a vigilance
a history chasing a moment or memory
stop spacing out
trust the process
pluck the needles from the ether to
forge a fragile knife
that cuts but breaks
and
where is my agency
where is i am
where am i
a bleeding temple
drawing purpose
lying in my own bed
what do i want of these words
what good do they do in my head
what do i tell you about them
without removing myself
an assembly of needles is only a bed
if you see the body sleeping in it
a knife is only a weapon
if you see the wielder strike
an image
a conjuring
a needle
how do i change the meaning
or the picture
or the process
how do i leave the room without knowing
what i’ll come back to

trying to summon a waking dream
is not the same as sleeping in one
how do i picture a body in the future
a new place

untitled

i’m trying to come back
from the place i have displaced language
the map was lost in a fire tornado
and anyway there are too many new roads
and empty buildings
nests without raptors
beds without rest

i just wanted quiet
i wandered a little too far

i tried to use the stars but wound up cursing
their indifference
the trees were too terse
i was too tense
buoyed out of my body by grief
and a rupture
and a rupture
and a rupture

loss everywhere
and a body losing itself
you can’t slip skin off
but you can mute it
frances 5 and loud
frances 15 and unspeaking
left alone too long
in a messy room
in a thirsty city

a place that can never be touched twice
a world contained by chaos
a quiet that sets in after
the fire tornado
digs a your house a grave

what does it mean to rebuild
once the shock stops calling lightning

Journal #10

 

unity
not to be confused with solidarity
is understood as
conceptually tied
to domination.

to the extent that
we learn to
perceive others arrogantly

or come to see them
only as products of arrogant perception
and continue to perceive them that way,
we fail to identify with them,
fail to love them.

the failure of identification
is the manifestation
of the “relation”
loving leads to
double perception
playful foolishness
that lends itself to travel.

 
do not be self-important
do not take norms as sacred
come here and sit with us
on a dirty bench
littered with a chorus.