teyre, Nicola Samori, 2013

This poem has been drawn from a portfolio in Vol. 2 No. 1 of the American Reader. For Eileen Myles’ full portfolio, purchase the print issue in our Shoppe.

why does he get
a whole state
all the way
over here
it took
me a long time
to figure out
that she
was mary shelley
not the whore of
god. All that
my cell phone
dinks like quotes
you, a sign
leaning against
a car & my ass
in the sun for
you. And I see a cloudy
of trees. It’s you I adore.
Dink. It’s you I’m
breaking my back for.
I play rolling the dog
with a hairless
woman. A car tucked
in a gully. The ins & outs
The light so truthful
about your embodiment
and I swear off
not bliss. Without
a punchline
without a fart
grapes scatter &
kill our son while
baby sneakers
dangle in
my view. Am I responsible
for this. I will
kiss you tattoo. Zing.
Every kind of sound
is your love.
I’m copying us to the road.
When I draw those scratching
peaks I won’t
be waiting. He’s here.
the soft pencil sound
scratching our length &
time. Erasing, blurring
and blowing. We’re marking
forever. Get this. 

I am recording you.
I will keep you in my gut.
the cars are stalled.
Zounds the trucks. Litter and
it will hurt.
report violators.
Dog where? or is it dogware.
Is it the drifting mfa
the new. Bearded man
and his beauty. Us. The collective
beast. A box forces
its way through the tossled
angles of tree points.
Dink. And now the river
wrinkly cuss. Ka thunk
ka thunk 

what about YOUR blathering genitals
that’s an aside. 

I would like to do something
before we mourn
the end of American
democracy. At least to
dive into a joint
and explode something
(I feel fear)
to become conscious
And one.
To be seen. All stars
at once. As
gleaming people
I know myself, pushing.

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