With Love and Baths and Rage and Love,
I go grasping
with language &
blood in a Georgia
since last I wrote.
is not poetic.
Did you leave
to jot down
a line, you ask.
No, I went
to take my
I write on
hoping the bath
is not too
hot because I can’t
good source on water
temp. & pregnancy.
I have applied to 48
jobs. We’ll flip
a coin, you say, to see
you’ll live in.
A freight train, a plane.
I should be
to a job right now.
I hover over
an article titled
How to Rekindle
PPD felt like
of strong Salvia.
It’s not repetition,
I say. We keep
looking for a way
to want to stay.
you as a tiny
shell. What gets
it’s a form
With Love and Summer and Rage and Love,
the statuary headlines pivot apart
because of hurricanes and pardons
in North America you all looked
up here only particles blotted
the sun we wanted hope in the form
of ambition it was like staring
into a well trying to outline limbs
what wave is this feeling we can hear
a clarinet and a hammer
we wanted to wander in rooms
full of musical instruments
it’s selfish the air has been
good for three days a dash
to get to the station an elevator
to the terraces taps of fat
raindrops on the train windows
in the Netherlands the bat houses
are shaped like bats our body
doesn’t feel like this do you know
how many slugs are in the world
discarding verbs we wanted
to need no ends but the only truth
of that is anagram we get good
and butthurt the way underbrush
gets illuminated in grey there is space
in this car for bikes old bodies
pregnant bodies we collect places
in Instagram we pass an hour with
calendars and panic it’s a kind
of construction project you say
the hay bales look like public art
he tells the former president’s daughter
about conception in her country the track
edges are dotted with pink we spend
40 hours in the future storks in a chimney
are good luck what kind of stability are
we after tonight we’ll see a movie
I knew the star when
With Love and Irritation and Rage and Love,
We make a pact not to look
at Facebook for the week. I only cheat twice.
We walk into the thick air
for wolf dinosaurs.
I never was a good loser.
I keep saying that we should see our work with humor.
There is no voicemail in China.
We run the filters on high.
This week I try I do this
because I keep collapsing
into a tedium of lists.
We walk into the thick air
for a second story called Heaven.
The holiday letter drama returns.
A tedium of flushing.
I try not to say Ask your students
and believe them.
I gesture heart sparkles at you.
Can I Taobao one of these clever pivot stoppers for my brain.
In Heaven, the fish is so orange
the camera can’t pixelate it.
We can’t tell from the headlines
what people are talking about.
A tedium of forecasting.
They’re so afraid they
keep feeding the oligarchs.
All the humor changes key.
I can’t hook the present and we can’t get up.
The humor is monstrous and should be.
With Love and Grief and Rage and Love,
We must disenthrall ourselves. Where
we live the ground is lava or it’s a play.
We undertake to call and call. The canker
sore medicine is bitter and blackens
my mouth. Age made it seem like the sudden
hadn’t crested the peak yet. Poise
is a performance I keep trying to
repeat, but for me the costs are low.
On Facebook the police are posting fake
news: protesters block an ambulance.
The curtain’s up on crowd control. Repeating
lines become we hope that you will hear
us out. Hearing the right redshift between
stepping up and getting out of the way.