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The Brooklyn Rail

FEB 2020

All Issues
FEB 2020 Issue
Poetry

four


A Girl in the Picture



A guideline in the blue landscape
feels like a small room that feels giant because everything is blue.
There is no distinguisher of the shapes or walls of the room. The blue dominates.

Leopards move outside in the dust hills

away from the means to be certain direction of translation when the stars the moon and the sun are certain of other things.

Inside this blue room are viles bubbling on a robotic vein. They are thick vats containing fluid for evolution, the spiritual type, of ancient angel song. Or the drink of the death to someone you once knew. A past self. Destroyer.

Blue skin in the desert sun how does it burn
egg running sunshine a devilish inside
torched a goblin in cowboy boots.

Feeling secure walking or sitting still with flowers in a ditch sickness in my heart
winter in cafes avoiding snow inside windows fog and the atmosphere turns a grey blue
a harassment to the swinging sweetness of bright and sunny days.

The room looks so much bigger in pictures with you.









Funny Place



Taking away the pure the delicate the say whatever is on your mind free bird head
Do not mind the impression about to be printed on the cloth sheet
Over a table of stone from the edge of the forest where the vines made you bleed
A stone from there cast upon a four legged standing statue
So sturdy as the mirror made to look us 100 years older and suddenly with a lot of miracles to be held
Never try again to photograph the four unlit candles on the mantle in the funhouse mirror
Did i mention this strange bed in a room of blue almost furry blue, but there are no matches sorry









yeah I’m in between bodies right now



yeah I’m in between bodies right now
in the medium field
can’t quite see to the other sides
the party, i don’t like big crowds
the best people are drinking and having fun
better off drunk and covered in ashes
in the car smoke cigarettes and weed
and i need to be
cared for
unfortunate series of events
catch a feeling
then you’re off wakey wakey

might just have to show up
fruity flavoring
mushrooms in the top drawer
show off

drug myself up
noises in my head
thinking of the words
analyzing
next time you come over
open your presents and
don’t be alarmed
i don’t want to tell you what to do

rotting until time can pass
that does not mean anything
the time spent digging the corner stone casket
having a fun day
show me you like me

shining alone
on a gloomy day
hearing the bells and birds
mess around

small and meaningful
meaning it
mistaken for something else
that does not mean anything
too vague
too clumsy
too specific
too daunting
steep and haunting
greasy and calling
to a hill
forever
until dismemberment

i always forget what you look like
can i borrow some photos
or act all surprised









Heart Shaped Hole



Cryptic systems in a dance routine
Body in my mind in a vessel with you
Haven’t written a new thing but now you leave
and there is the space to arch new born back
To read the long lost history carved on the van side
We drive out of this town in, completely dark with ink
During a long fulfilling project to love distance and dreams
During low key night, stretched out
Slow burning connection
With self, blue giants pressing hands together
We don’t do it for the applause
We respect insanity
We close our eyes on the prize
And instead reach out our arms
To the wind of possibility
And let it touch us

close

The Brooklyn Rail

FEB 2020

All Issues