MobileInTent: Alta California + Parts Close By, Re-mapping Forms, Trees, Rivers: artists from Oakland, Berlin and Guadalajara push against questions of walls, distribution and ecology.
from the chapbook NO FILTER (August 2014)
The physical form talks around an interpretation.
I am floating above my body sitting above two cities, sometimes three when the sky is clear.
The elaboration of community, of a process—unfolds inside an interview, on the Internet, in a gallery.
Movement and relation.
What is happening next?
My horoscope says lean into what is unknown, something about Neptune and water. I’ve been feeling ungrounded anyway.
We have pretty bad luck, huh?
What do we deserve other than luck?
I’m out of practice—writing, being around others.
Notes: skip ahead, no pressure, dead zones, structures, vulnerability, process.
I guess this thing is new.
There are many lines to hold.
Something about the physical form
and talking around an interpretation—
if you move the object it triggers a change
we are unsure of how to interact
can we take a picture of this?
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from the chapbook BETWEEN THE SEAS (June 2014)
“… and unmade boundaries of acts and poems,
the brilliant scene between the seas, and standing,
this fact and this disease.” — Muriel Rukeyser
a black curtain hangs in folds
behind the stage
animated in relief
curved above the background
figures stand wooden, terrible
you and you and me
here and the others, objects
resting in a cave as once curled
inside the belly of the decoy
like a tormented lover waiting
at the edge of the sea forever vigilant
silent now but here or when we depart
vanishing takes on a quality of redress
we leave without you / we take you with us
the dragging of history behind our backs
for we march through the thicket with a saddle of bones
and this, the sidewalk, a sultan scrawled
bashed through the looking glass
there looms a violent revolt of being
sultan on the sidewalk
I greet you on the third day
it is no matter
the body form
form builds around
by you and in the others
a charmed space I conjure the sultan
amidst tree swings
a chair in the wind
and my sultan
rather cloaked petticoat, the box contains you
not a gift, curse, not a piece of parchment, there not a jar
inside to be opened, no plagues, disease, perhaps some hatred
of women, of works, of days
the tree that holds a swing is of course the great tangle
leaves and generations, branches
great Gods and Goddesses
non extant to this day
a struggle to breathe on top of the day another day
you walk along a dirt road lined with shit and sludge
the remnants of your history
you drag them behind you
do not retreat into the chamber of your heart
for your heart is diseased
your pockets stuffed with splendor
rotten core thrown out moving window
bite marks all around it
tumbling through the woods
released with force from your hand
chomping on the last bite
behind the freeway, tumbling, a forest
we find you there
from the chapbook TWO ANGELS (May 2014)
[The soundtrack to this poem is a
Recording of The President reading
This poem remixed into an apology
You cant understand the poem until
You hear the poem’s soundtrack]
But the way the cormorant draws
The drops off of its back assures me
My death should come as violently
As humanly possible—I cannot swim
The way a cormorant can swim &
Forget flying—look at these stupid
Hands & the dumb thumbs that type
Love letters to strangers until they
Exhaust themselves it’s all a waste
“Poetry? But Can He Eat It?”
Everything I know I learned from TV
Sharks will eat me & ants will eat me
With enough time man will eat me
I’m sorry I never started growing up
When I learned I didnt have to
A man buys a house & fills it with
1000 things borrowed w/ his money
Exactly ten of those things are books
Try this: I buy a house & fill it with
1000 things borrowed w/ my money
To the dining room I pay the most care
I dont allow a chair around the table
I dont even allow a table & forget food
When you come in to dine just be