her (universe) continuous

The sentence makes its way through the stanza 

The texts we (women) have written are ourselves

Caught in the act of peering into history 

Collage juxtaposes Unprocessed reality 

With the product of the artist's imagination, he said.  

Silted in armour. In geometric armor of the stanzas. 

Let us make the familiar strange, we said. 

Do not say all is about me 

And i won't say all is about you. 

TRUTH IS NO APOLLO 

Thoughts? Blazed thoughts. Thoughts ablaze. 

The Wickedest clown. 

The Manmoth comes back. 

Temporality is pierced and every detail exists. 

and here i am,

I pierce the circumference 

But the art of losing isn't hard to master, 

Master. 

Faith is not belief 

Belief is not faith 

Sliding glass Door 

human Translation of 

Epistemological 

Ontological 

Metaphysical 

Existence. 

Existential Fire mental 

Sound of fury of pain 

Of ice of fire of tea 

Of soul of face

Of velvet of love 

Why rhyme when die

Let's summon death to the whipping post 

These poems are ash. The fire came before. 

Orality saves from fire. 

SET FIRE TO THE NEW YEAR ICE WITH YOUR HOT TEARS 

She alone is in touch with all the universe. 

These words must be unsocketted, 

to where they can live a more natural life. 

Yet blank lines do not say nothing. 

For once you believe in resurrection, you die. 

Like I. I 

Dissappear when I see you. 

Take out the heart, empty guitar 

This is another new world shore the gods

Have chained me to

This is a time that is unamerican. 

My hands are dressed in scarves of smoke

My hands are dressed in overflowing lush language 

Grateful to think one thought. A vestal virgin. A muscular syntax. Beauty as maladie. Erotics of sameness. Narcissus is Christ. Christ is narcissus. 

Does the wife become the vanishing point? Do I become the vanishing point? 

I long to be the the.

Why am I an I? 

It's only two 

And I'm finally not 

Thinking of you

But instead of red

Of Sinclaire 

And Carson 

And corporeal 

And tangible 

A red just for us 

For the women here 

For the women now. 

Red Fury / Red Love / Red War / Red Desire 

My silence can be heard everywhere. 

I love being able to breathe 

Weightless weeks 

Kill memory, stone soul 

Could she have been a poet without all this pain? Could I be a writer without all this pain? 

There's that blue lustre of loving eyes. 

Of such deep blue that to gaze into them 

And not think of the sea was impossible 

Yet you stood behind a blind red wall. 

a sweet soft drop

douce, douce

you sing.

I hear you, in g minor only

slippy, sweet, soft

douce, douce

but it's sad. sad like the

hundreds. sad like an Atlantic wave

fois, pas douce, fois

g minor

e minor

a minor

smooth,

still smooth

yet not smooth for me.

g minor only

for me

at all.

Everything is a sacrifice to memory, 

but Pushkin died in a duel. 

SET FIRE TO THE NEW YEAR ICE WITH YOUR HOT TEARS 

I love being able to breathe

This is when I decide to be born 

Post text: various interwoven lines of this poem are taken from poetesses throughout history, such as Anna Akhmatova, Emily Dickinson, Safiya Sinclair, Anne Carson, Solmaz Sharif, and Inger Christensen. I seek to channel their powerful force of energy through myself as I grapple with womanhood, and stand on their shoulders as I create myself. I also allude to various critical essays written on poetry or are sometimes connected to it, such as George Bataille's Eroticism. I give my thanks to these thinkers and poets, for without them, I not only wouldn't have been able to write this poem, but also to sort through my existence in art and intellect too.