the magic box you had to open

bless the fruit flies fuck the fruit flies

write a poem in my torquoise notebook place a bug on my eyelid so many things i overlook the gold of a tigers eye finds me in a plastic wrapper i make life an enthusiastic matter

The diary is the log of her journey through the labyrinth of the self, of her effort to find, and to define, the woman Anaïs, the real and the symbolic one who balances “between” action and contemplation, involvement and self-preservation, emotion and intellect, dreams and realit...

instead of taking the train home today I will take it past my station and all the way up north and go on the swings

serenity

a surprise is exactly how

hey, gnasher! hey, dog! hey, wolf, holld him, holld him! cattle are the only hedgecutters [he] relaxed, a little, in the laconic style of chipping off his pronouns, and auxiliary verbs were you asked carried away bodily the air swarmed with catherines the first of the seventy fir...

register

good morning river

did i ever

i winked and you missed it

when does the kneecap stop catching up?

in stroking the now empty j. alexandra phalanxes, “the civilized are so accustomed to falsity that they practice it even in those circumstances when they would like to practice truthfulness.” i hate them as i hate sex, / the man’s mouth / sealing my mouth, the man’s / paralyz...

there’s good news tonight

penny general

sex, / having outlived every threat, will gratify / only the mind, which is where it will exist t.k. smith sun split like spun the water drives a wedge / of iron through the iron edge ac- cident—lack m. moore lure no thing. it will leave you stunned. g. calvocoressi