POST-RAPHAELITE BROTHERHOOD PAINTINGS
Chelsea Harlan
Painting of a Vietnamese restaurant lunch menu.
Painting of a woman being pulled out of a river
by her hair and she is smiling and her hair is dry.
Painting of a war-torn meadow:
Painting of a Vietnamese restaurant lunch menu.
Painting of a woman being pulled out of a river
by her hair and she is smiling and her hair is dry.
Painting of a war-torn meadow:
The summer you learned who was dealing what. You were applying to programs, your pointillism, neat in ink, when a wind disappeared your drawing.
All I wanted was the haze of a worn gown / of sleep after the scrape of that / honey-sipped night.
All summer the future had been coming for us like a thunderstorm at which turkeys look up and drown in the rain.
This has to stop— / you're a year dead. I shatter the mirror // with a glare, pace the hall carpet, / but others arrive by dawn, agitated // by thuribles, syllables scattered from / pulpits, daughters buttoned into pastel.
fuck me here on this scabrous mountain while we all watch each other among sacred olives fuck away desire.
Watching the blood drain was the moment she knew/ that she didn’t have it figured out."
Tanja and I were competing to see who had moved the most as a child.
“I know of at least fourteen places we lived before I was eighteen,” I said.
Tanja started naming places she had lived. She kept naming her grandma’s house over and over, between every place.
My sense of regret is the dog
you remember with immense fondness
but that you no longer know.
Caitlyn, let me take that hair / in my own hands and curl it down your back.
The Dinosaur of Wyoming
I was never born a hermaphrodite. But I tell this story where I am born a hermaphrodite. And anyone listening after I get to the part when the gynecologist asks if
Love is like a museum. You have to look around, experience things, and then leave.
Garielle's longest, most peculiar, most particularized book. A sure-to-be collector's item. Delivery 4-6 weeks!
“Legs Get Led Astray is a scorching hot glitter box full of youthful despair and dark delight.”
—Cheryl Strayed, author of WILD