you’ll find no imperative here.
i’m standing by the chair. then i’m sitting in it. then i’m in it, not sitting, not standing. i’m in the chair the way a bird is in the air: unnoticed, natural, nominal. directives descend: detailed, demanding. cords click into contacts. conduits…
by a breath of bad blood breaking in an amniotic alcove, we were trained to trade the taking for the sea[son]’s surface, s[e]ated. we admired mighty mirrors with our held-out hands atrembling, and our questions sounded queerer the more rapidly repeated. i…
— I AM MADE OF TIRES! — i like lighting fires. — I’M WHITE BECAUSE I’M CARBON-DEFICIENT! — my lieutenant is a fairy and she’s very efficient. — I AM TALL AND YOU ARE TINY! — i still have all my baby…
our slang is salted with the words of those whose ways were lost to politics and pox. we congregate in cardboard kingdoms, learning how to lift and lighten loads and loosen locks. in the plaza between the pyramids of moon and sun,…
antique birds carry dreaming eggs, folded; gold has interred just kings. low mounds, never opened :: precious, quiet, richly solid things. under venerable wonder, xenophobic young zealots yearn, xerophilic, while virgins undulate through several revels. queenly paragons ordain new mantic levels; kin…
under walls as wide as wind, as tall as time, a s[t]inging storm surpasses the old sense of what we call sublime. a landslide leads unravelanche down into maelstromouth, its cataract[ion] cacophonous from summit to center, from native north to savage south.…
this is a wing. it was woven on Wednesdays. we wore it when Whim woke us early for Wren’s Ways. this is a moon. it was molded on Mondays. my grandmother made it to manage the sun’s maze. these are the gifts…