the daughter of my voice
The daughter,
of my voice
is not
Eating the petals Off a nail
I want to play seriously on the roof
with an enormous aptitude
for beads: peeling bad
capital from myself,
yet not despairing over the belief-
system taping the war to the sky.
Already it is fairly
molten in its blue flaw.
Wringing wet sleet
from the stone connotes
finally the tactic,
of the belief-
system: like
the smooth grind of a sentence—
& our blinking concerns the beauty
of a hexagon sky. The night dots lift now:
on quilted tents with trees approaching: & to
imagine it,
with devastating
pathos, we unfurl
like a revolting battery.
The attacks can wait; nothing changes
their true power. And
it is true,
chanting this
token
fluency to the night
finally in memory of us, As if the
light soup pours / Off the flat of the knife
Being seen isn’t quite like that
Like can’t anna
herself unsure
The task off
falls from the quilt
like can’t Anna
In damage to eat listening
Comb lies across
falls from the quilt
then he stood quickly without guilt
herself unsure
High heels in the snow
There is a dark, crowbar of paranoia
Passive
against
the drilled sky of my arms
Bleeding traditional stillness. And it is
In my breast to react.
And it is the same sorry beep of a trap.
And it is in
the mind of the line, such
predilection for the lucent artery
Brilliant
with dark comprehension to
Bear me, with extraordinary
disgust for it, so I sleep as the slender Tool
Boy starving into me
the
entrance
bones Her beautiful head
Honest to God I can't. Fluttering with micro-lie. I am a . I am Eating cake. I am eating pang cakes. I am eating pang . I walk out in the snow. You had your Moment I had mine. I wanted
“ Experience
wind -shield. you asked,
what does the factory Make? Factories
Across
& A rash of lamb belts
& I walk out in the snow. I make in the Ha. ( still I experience itas a lack.) Still experience Lack. I walk into the snow. I experience
Lack. everything Relates. the axe slams
Kindness into the tree
On wet
Speed in the library, the social
situations slide Like beautiful wipers
until I am crying like a twinkling
diagram,
As if the whole
city were one,
grinding cocaine hierarchy.
And it must be my destiny:
fluent
in
Unassailable strings of braided syrup, to say
Obviously, there is a bold, shitty
Kind of
magic to life .
well How did you expect the tableau to deplete? I re- walked the whole thing. you had thrown me something, i remarked on that a Year ago, almost a difficult—shelf-like buildings. quoted some idiot, &before i even finished I learned the power of your reward: it was just, certain muscles of the face. but I have. not
seen this town. How? how not. where squares of sheer color are the sky
I
edit
the violets myself
the land escapes around you
Anyway the land escapes around you
Monroe Lawrence was born and grew up on unceded Coast Salish Lands. His favourite writers include Hannah Weiner, Vi Khi Nao, Marcel Proust, and listen chen. His past writing can be found in Best American Experimental Writing and The Capilano Review, and in a chapbook, Nice,.
English