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January 28, 2019 Poetry

w/ a poor understanding of language 

Christina Firl

w/ a poor understanding of language  photo

Intake

I was born in a smokestack of desire roundness + softness +
all things etherealmademoral / insolence made underground
so they curtain over the deepest smoldering wounds
the ones that really curdle.
                                                                      / like all three hips have been dislocated
there’s a specific way a broken woman walks /
out of leaping                              / of god’s lowest willows, after drowning
and drowning / in the haggardness
I’d imagine you’d never stop coughing / but beautiful, listless.

This Is An Example Of My Issue w/ The Liberal Orthodoxy:

oh babe this is radical.  
only you me evil & god have been human

on a day where no tailgate could
rally me / & the aggression that
follows
                  and hefts itself into an
acidic jacuzzi in your skull / a fear
a trauma / a way to see the world

sometimes there’s no need for continuance.
sometimes one brush with god is enough
                                                  / in plain light
& malleable me-animal headinknees
as keys fallclink

           [thick paste in my mouth]

Did you keep your socks on >

what

Did you keep your socks on >                                   

                        -

                        -

                        -

do you have to write this down

 

 

Progress

I. Blue capsule, yellow tablet                                                       Fluoxetine 40 mg once daily  
                                                                                                           Clonazepam 0.5 mg as needed

there’s a neighbor            who takes his smoke breaks               
around the same time         as me               and others
i assume       like me/they speak down to her and call it
realness, like:        with a name like southern comfort
what could go wrong >  

i’m nervous around things man-made; for that reason
i’m nervous around myself            sometimes, I think
                                /icouldbetheone/           to move on
past the man-scars, but they’re deep              & jagged
& reopeningconstant/ly like a sweetness       you chase

           // under the train tracks //

where you’ve never seen teeth sobeautiful / precious
porcelainporn             or something similarly degrading
like Black Friday shopping

 

II. Whitehealth (morning dose)                                                      Quetiapine 100 mg  

/you’d think sweetness is something i always look for
 but it burns my hands like lye
/you can train her now          but she won’t last two
 weeks and that can be annoying         this word is

a symbol of my creativity               
oh this word makes me feel horny

 she’s more flexible than she looks you know
[I know]

& my dread flies
from my chest hair          to you,
to me,   when the time calls for it

we sons of Appalachia
we can unspool a woman 2 or 3 times in a row

 

 

image: Carabella Sands


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