|What is a poem for Mahmud Darwish, what poem could be?
from: If a child is a land you may not own. (flat singles 2013)
If it werehere
could it behere?
when water seeps into a poem
for a broken into map
a map seeping into
How you are a person
written with water
as land goes as far as lands are concerned, away
or the earth, under a field of stones,
do you know fig trees?
Ask a journalist
where does your dress hang?
For whom has the fold turned up?
Fire turned into a frayed edge?
How you are one person is unwritten.
And you in your best dress
Smile as if indulging in traveller's tales
With big mouths
their a rippling
at you in tears frays
(from behind a word
hides the word for sesame bread)
Light your lights
Lips curving under and into
A sun yellow taxi, stopped
there, there how long
Inky curls like a girlshanging on
by fiat plunder
greeting, as if
lover away layers of world
Is it then you call out and eye the sky? Down.
Sky like people resists and sky like sky does not know
Does not wish, ground down.
If water seeks somewhere it does not know sky like
sky will not be pulled low
Though they raise earth
& boil air
& turn all to stone.
Stone where sky was meant
Light culled people under and into
Inky curls luring peopleweepinginto a poem
where thought might rest,
From Lyric Sexology
Impersonation doesn't mean what you think. This is the introduction to this book, my introduction, my lyrical sexology. Lyric Sexology. This is one of the things you need to get straight. This is another, you there in your later age, your so-called 21st century:
I am not a transsexual. Or an intersexual, or a hermaphrodite. (Hermaphroditus can write her own damn book.) I am not any of those things you have words for now. You don't have words for what I am. What I was was this:
I was a dude.
Then I was a chick.
Then I was a dude again.
Hah. You didn't think we said "dude" or "chick" in what you call ancient Greece, Hellenes, etc. Think again.
Here is what you don't have words for: What is a seer? What is beyond knowing? How can I write you now, a now impossibly out of joint with your own, knowing you will read this? Knowing you? Or what is a sex in time? Without?
You do not have a word for snakes or gods or sexes. You only think you do.
You do not have a word for the meeting of snake sex god in one word's divided knowing, a knowing one divided word.
Seven years is what I was as beyond, a beyond, and inside too. So, impersonation doesn't begin to describe it, but suppose it did. Suppose I began to describe you.
|Chapter 1 Lyric Sexology
From The Adventures of Julian Robinson AKA Miss High Heels
An episode occurred which is difficult to write that,
Glad Feet shod in glittering Steel
I was, as I have confessed, girlish to look at
Winged with confusion and pretty heels.
Picture fancies of luxurious gowns, all accoutrements of femininity
The boys, the boys, the boys, they torment from dawn to midnight
While Miss H. and Miss P. titter oh! This Solitude demoralizes me.
I protested it was not my place or in my nature.
their conversation, so very civilized and mature.
Being stolen once more into this
I was discovered. Even as I implored, I felt my chances dim.
"You've strayed young Sir, now must Woman take the helm...
I will lock tight fetters on your gossamer clad limbs."
The skirt clung so tight and close, but the corset stays...
I was enveloped in white lace, pink and blue satins, bustles and bows...
I continued to fondle and pinch her breasts.
And so on, until...
My tears broke out afresh, we had been so close...
Betrayed in heels, begowned, with my
I was at last eighteen and would be owner of this house....
What strange paradoxes does life proffer.
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