easter factory.

There is a poem I haven’t written yet.
There are people who steam in me like a power plant. /  I used to build dynasties in my head. 
Now I build myself and I don’t have a tail but sometimes a phantom trickles off my spine that sounds like you. Tonight I felt peace foam between my [...]

pre-sleep.

I should be sleeping or writing my film paper but I can’t scratch the scent of sangria in a pitcher on the radiator the odor pinches my lungs, cranberries bloated with wine and gin or whatever they used. 
It’s cold in here and I want you to call me back. I’ve taken to wearing a ring [...]

As I walked home from the train station

I realized I have become a sewing machine. The yang to last night’s realization is, precisely, “why am I doing this? What gives me the power or the right to live as an artist?” I’ve never thought of this much before, I just loved and created and the poems came from a very real place. [...]

On sex, death, and the reality of rabbits

In my poems I should just completely cut anything narrative. I can’t narrate, can’t tell you what happened for the sake of saying that it happened. So how can I reveal a dead rabbit in the yard and make it intimate? 
The revelation of a dead rabbit should always be intimate. It’s an intimate thing, still [...]

love’s austere and lonely offices

I think I finally gave birth tonight while listening to all the poets at the 6×6 after eating more spicy bean stew than I should have after she touched my hand in the gym to see if it was cold I felt this overwhelming sense of love beyond me that I recognized vaguely from how [...]

Cockgame freewrite

What the fuck is this poem ABOUT? What am I trying to say in it? 
I am exploring the rediscovery of my attraction to men but I’m not taking it very seriously, it’s all a fucking game- a cockgame, but so’s the lesbian part so I guess that’s all it is– a long-winded explanation of the [...]

Dear God(dess):

What am I going to birth? 
(Please let it be a bunny).

I parsnip (verb)

I am sitting in the sun room eating mashed potatoes and revising poems.
Comfort food was in the air. I’m not sure when I started to like mashed potatoes. 
Revising can be slow, dull, difficult. So many of my new ones have no idea what they want to be when they grow up. It’s almost enough to [...]

On Maya Deren, Poetry, and trying not to die of PMS

I’m supposed to be doing work right now, but instead I’m lying here with the bud of a cold in my system and some of the gloomiest PMS I’ve ever experienced. Seriously. I find myself reading the same words over and over, I took in absolutely nothing about the trance film and I’m so far [...]

Equinox freewrite

Dialogue between Caldwell and New York(?):
It was never like this before, the first time we fucked I wore a two-dollar slip, I ate more mozzarella sticks when we got stoned. I was lazy in my brutal confidence, I loafed in my skin, an iridescent jelly ball on campus. The first time we went to New [...]