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n. infantile pattern of suckle-swallow movement in which the tongue is placed between incisor teeth or between alveolar ridges during initial stage of swallowing (if persistent can lead to various dental abnormalities) v. [content removed due to Bush campaign to clean up the internet] n. act of nyah-nyah v. pursuing with relentless abandon the need to masticate and thrust the world into every bodily incarnation in order to transform it, via the act of salivation, into nutritive agency
Friday, October 07, 2005
writing wor(k)sh(o/i)p
no ensearched little crevice
formed / belonging
despite every -scope I poured through
rasping for any edge at all
on the pendulous swing of words and tough love
who thought breath stole away?
and language leaves lightly sometimes
so much time spent swimming, underwater divisions
against the belly of earth
who realigned herself daily to rake
me through red and through notime as one of hers
not of people, something molten
primitive and carnal, longing to fall
solid again
so many repeated lines in shuttered
space // and now I don't even want to say them
although it still hurts to know I once did
and couldn't
never forget that--
how much was made impossible
and how impossible
should've been forgotten
not because life is easy, and people just slapdown
out of the sky in laps
but because when impossible leaves
effort seems more alive
than nothing
in workshop today, I shopped for words enough
the idea that response is not asking
too much. try to figure out
how to put a rock on papers
so they don't all blow away away
my teacher, who I speak for but don't speak with
because who trusts artists these days?
tucked her head in her collar, in the rain, in
and asked me if I was excited
and I was, I was, I was, but I was
scared too
because worship always echoes lost faith;
they belong together like some kind of mutilated birth
I told my teacher I had spent all week
grinding myself
down
so my feelings wouldn't get all hurt
I tease myself when I say it that way
but it doesn't stop the wild red in my eyes
lashing ready to not slip somehow
to lose in what has never been a game
on this side of stone
but then, I went and felt new blank soil
and wind through the 17th floor
a building over lake and sail, a small/swift teacher
who already seems to believe, an
owl-cemented rooftop, enshrouded first rain
murking tar and tile, rips in cliffsides
solidified scabless
I walked in the rain for an hour afterwards
-while I never cry anymore, there's always a threat-
and felt grief for the faith I lost
for no reason
no reason at all
and felt faith in the grief I lost
for every reason
each and every one
formed / belonging
despite every -scope I poured through
rasping for any edge at all
on the pendulous swing of words and tough love
who thought breath stole away?
and language leaves lightly sometimes
so much time spent swimming, underwater divisions
against the belly of earth
who realigned herself daily to rake
me through red and through notime as one of hers
not of people, something molten
primitive and carnal, longing to fall
solid again
so many repeated lines in shuttered
space // and now I don't even want to say them
although it still hurts to know I once did
and couldn't
never forget that--
how much was made impossible
and how impossible
should've been forgotten
not because life is easy, and people just slapdown
out of the sky in laps
but because when impossible leaves
effort seems more alive
than nothing
in workshop today, I shopped for words enough
the idea that response is not asking
too much. try to figure out
how to put a rock on papers
so they don't all blow away away
my teacher, who I speak for but don't speak with
because who trusts artists these days?
tucked her head in her collar, in the rain, in
and asked me if I was excited
and I was, I was, I was, but I was
scared too
because worship always echoes lost faith;
they belong together like some kind of mutilated birth
I told my teacher I had spent all week
grinding myself
down
so my feelings wouldn't get all hurt
I tease myself when I say it that way
but it doesn't stop the wild red in my eyes
lashing ready to not slip somehow
to lose in what has never been a game
on this side of stone
but then, I went and felt new blank soil
and wind through the 17th floor
a building over lake and sail, a small/swift teacher
who already seems to believe, an
owl-cemented rooftop, enshrouded first rain
murking tar and tile, rips in cliffsides
solidified scabless
I walked in the rain for an hour afterwards
-while I never cry anymore, there's always a threat-
and felt grief for the faith I lost
for no reason
no reason at all
and felt faith in the grief I lost
for every reason
each and every one
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you got it, sweet lolly girl. 'tis a poem, if we dare call it such, about seeing things newly. (it needs snipping back... I think it's two poems, one particularly bad, and the other a something I will later look back on to make myself smile about the new motion in my life). Your's is the first comment in awhile... I like it. I like you. lalalala
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