So it looks like the joke day has passed and AWP is coming up and I’m trying not to have the yearly sinusmess and sudafed-addled experience that comes along with that conference. Will see if that holds or what comes through over the weekend. Lately been thinking a lot about privilege, and every time I type that word I’ve got to check the spelling. So there’s something correlated between checking and checking. I’ve got to keep at it. So I expect some of that will fold into what I’m getting down here. That and sonnets (often horrible and gangily), so maybe what happens here will chunk out regularly around 20 lines or so. Sometimes things can be so well contained within that little space. Or not. Crammed in, or folding out. Whatever a container is, anyway. Chunk out. That’s maybe a motto. Maybe truffle shuffle, too. Did the Goonies teach us anything? Anyway, here’s a starter:
let this be real, the pains we swallow whole
like damp cloth and gastric juice
what urgent pause there is when choking
a top spun, then lilted
what the sun doesn’t know
is how ugly each one
of us can be. what trails and traits
our insides leave out.
let’s have show and tell, (organ
sounding, maybe hunger) but not
really ever like
what anyone else has to say. just
pretend it’s always
our turn to speak. or just becoming
grade forever, but the sizes changed.
and the implications matter.
i wear my stained shirt
to the cafeteria
and you wear
your locket close
and we cower
we’re asked to sing
them all to sleep.