Complete the sequence—the wheel, the printing press, the transistor ... what’s next?
I am standing next to / the unsunken earth
I am peerless in regret.
not because they are easy, / but because of the disease.
this is / the specter of blue, the sky, / all of it.
opaque pang they would call / love, that rarefied thing
mix equal parts helpless and culpable. form into original shapes.
I remember my first death / under dim lights.
sipping what we cannot / swallow.
Here amidst the Pacific / I have forgotten dryness.
that thrumming when you’re near
others first, then us.
the kind of thing you build / by hand, two of
the invader, goddess of the electric / hand.
what is a man / —but
once there was meaning / but I swallowed
I avert / her diamond gaze.
The thing that runs through you.
blue were her hands, / and gaps in her teeth.
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the red oaks all strings / not like artificial straw
everything is // different. half of me too.
It didn't take long for Laura Herrera to notice that something was strange about her twins.
Your bird protests, but she does not know winter.
They’re singing a chanson outside.
I've gone and cast your words into the sea.
the body is light and fruit. / the mind is color and water.
why did she take residence in you, how did she grow?
the clock chimes six and / you transform into a different person.
I have seen the light, / and you will be struck blind.
once you get through / the nerves there is no pain.
without / light there are no things, there / is no shadow.
I can tell you're / thinking of your heart things again.
myself a vessel for / the eternal things.
she goes between / the flat and real with // a thought.
Vivian clutched the bag in her lap and thought of winged things.
...a beat beneath his feet, a quickening in his pulse.
why we only love people after they die/I don't understand.
I am thinking of a sharp thing.
You whisper sweet crude nothings.
my egg opens over the breakfast/pan
Are you oriented?
I laughed at your question in the glittery grass, our only cover the mantle of twilight.
The lump on the back of my skull is not/draining
I did not know it would hurt/this much to turn into an angel.
It is all an accident.
At night we dream of falling.
The cello is her voice box and she lets it out.
When her allergies flare...
So you want to be an actor, huh?