by Michelle Puckett

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To die for rags is unreasonable
        She is interested in the broken.
She is obviously a feminist.
Early American wilderness. Replicating ways of worship. this is about the body bucking and rearing. tight & strong & utter obstacle.

When we try to work on double-conciousness, the question becomes, “who am I?” (minus monolithic) (corrosive desire). For instance, imagine a poetry without the web. referential blind. how much groping.

          Love is both envy & emulation
          Dualism: good & evil
             To be a woman and Pythagorean
             Gun watches herself, watching

One is fragile and one is brutalized. She was using the idea of decay. The stillness is highlighted by the period.

There is motion apparent in 123.
Made prints thru scabs.
123 has the first poetic period.
The impulse to point is huge.



     What is the line so that I may participate in this conversation?
     “stuck” in these colors. but I understand the pleasures of the body writing.
If no one can read it, then what does it mean?
To perform a lack of agency. Can it be subverted. I make notes so they might stay.

Dearth

           There are words inside of words.
  If one lives in New York for half
and San Francisco for half, how
to keep the middle portion? How
to avoid absent gut? Loss of chest cavity?

Incrementally, distance is real. 720.837.4360 will you call that number now?
If the dots were left out, would you? Creeping, like a watercolor?

      ferment . relation of things . way back when
      obvious . mind . present impossible . attention
      emotion . things . that lends itself to that
      succession of events . pulled out . of philosophy
      which is the event . you know . linear . the poems
      often non-linear . and sometimes the pronouns .

mobius strip

but the grass, not wet, seemed to welcome
tender asses, 5 & 3, because he said so
this is a test. sign contains boat. hmong people
of vietnam. some dies of culture shock.
when we have a system that constructs
we have: write a poem
amusician(herhusband)cametostates
when i am dancing, that is the body
and when i am sleeping (kissing even)
that is the shadow. this is what lies on top
what covers by its very presence
there has never been any other kind of knowing
since we have always had the sun to contend with
this board is not unwet:
selection and combination
a funeral, a hymn, and then jelly
on the toast to the yellow bus
the time is sufficient for poplar trees
the night is when feeling comes alive
a moon follows me; growing and shrinking
a replication of the world as percival
reasonable. instructive
essays are pragmatic but something dies each time
mastermaster
choose 1 or 2 –
erase her qualities
actualize the break
at bard, activism aftermath
i “mean”. continuous
science + experiment = love 4ever
on the way to the moon, discovery, NASA pays
intuition swerves, traces the line
cooks a rice while the sonnet falls apart
spasms of pleasure, ambiguous
and you know it
it is hard to feel like my own self
like a colon that won’t end
iran could be a comfort but
i am a selfish daughter
lacerating this life with tiny, imperceptible
and the racist has had another birthday in dallas
despite my teenaged ripening
i “want” to live a long life