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Found 5 results

  1. today, robert koch is granted sainthood by a search engine and tuberculosis resists, makes a resurgence says msf and this brachylogy recalls snippets of half-forgotten language and suppressed empathy it is 9 degrees celsius, 16 km/h winds and in yemen, fighting and starvation still. then stillness. here, i am quietly pleased with the perfection of squares and comforted by the disconnect between news and understanding with mathematical certainty, they say there will be peace and health this year in d.c., inconvenient truths play on the radio and the politician adjusts the volume to his agenda today’s coffee spills, appropriately bitter there will be peace and health this year they say. the bullets simmer in our lungs // Author's note: This is another logopoetics experiment. (Thanks @woundedBirds, again.) The prompt I used can be found here: http://uutpoetry.tumblr.com/post/7127670815/logopoetics-project. I'd love to see other people try it out!
  2. untitled

    soundtrack: “whatever helps” (there are no saints, siobhan wilson) she asks about preventative measures and i swallow hard on the protestation that i am not the right person for this: i genuinely believe i am alive by luck at this point instead, i espouse the virtues of non-caffeinated tea and phone calls to friends who might somewhat understand or be willing to just share a moment’s silence soundtrack: “breathe (in the air)” (dark side of the moon, pink floyd) and when all else fails count together three in, five out , three in and five out and in and out soundtrack: “fake happy” (after laughter, paramore) and in these circumstances despite years of practical experience i feel horribly underqualified soundtrack: “wait ‘til the morning” (painting of a panic attack, frightened rabbit) i want to tell her things will get better but honesty is an immutable quality of our friendship and i can’t say that with any semblance of certainty i say it anyways
  3. a fluttering pulse becomes this arrhythmic bassline that hesitantly reverberates in my fingertips and i refuse to admit i possess these twitching hands tap out the rhythm of caffeine and albuterol on toff’s podium in the gould library, snap i’m not shaking he tells me certain research is impossible to find no matter where you look and certain facts are unavoidable and some days, i hate these bloody truths because they have become newly debatable the colorful paperclips of an argument are littered across the desk and i test the malleability of an idea between my nails: surprisingly flexible we are only somewhat our convictions, i concede and retreat without the need for dignity qui n’avance pas, recule the statue flicks his tail in disgust // Author's note - I wrote a poem off of @woundedBirds's logopoetics prompt, and here it is. It's probably ridiculously cryptic, but if you want me to explain my thought process, please ask. Also, I'm conducting a survey about a possibly (im)possible idea I have and would love to collect some more replies. Check it out here: http://cicadamag.com/index.php?/forums/topic/9932-in-which-ainm-has-an-impossible-idea/
  4. thanksgiving

    part one. a handful of garbled text messages and i call to hear her hyperventilate over the phone guided breathing and distraction until the panic subsides into my untenable promises it’s going to be okay it’s not okay but it’s going to be okay spin inane conversation until the last boarding call for my flight then i collapse into the window and resist the urge to cry part two. introductions and too many relatives for whom i cannot match face to name i drink five cups of oversugared earl grey tea, stain my teeth then dutifully scrub them clean - bright enough to deflect their questions and clutch a note/book with feigned importance and retreat to the porch of the yurt where the birds are visible in white specks skimming the slough record in blue ink the waiting for the right timbre of a car rattling up the drive part three. we leave the crowd to shake the guava tree and he teaches me to suck the marrow from these fruits of another’s labor (this is, after all, thanksgiving) we return but not now, not yet
  5. a week

    i. on the chaos scale this week has been a train wreck colliding with dragons add some atomic bombs you say and we laugh because what else do you do what else do you do ii. i am clinging to the last shreds of my sanity existing in repetitions and handfuls white white blue pink green oval diamond oval circle circle a discovery: these things meant to heal occasionally make everything worse iii. there will be brighter days there will be there must be believe because it is mandatory regardless of whether it is true how else am i to be a pillar when everyone i know is crumbling
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