outside is a felled tree blocking my entrance to (LANGUAGE ) digit society. Occupying me is facade. it is not an exit, somebody keeps singing. i had fleas when i was five, but that doesn’t mean you can trust me because, as you know, you can’t. This cement. Institution–how THEY call it brick veneer– as I remember me it, is cell-block cement: a pale, critically grey tedium
sometimes i remember that yr shoulders are freckled and it makes me cringe a little. No, I'm not going to say it again. how anxious like a canary how anxious like a CANARY betting on itself through the windows and sockets do you know what i mean or do you only think of lines
in terms of body snatchers outsourced // a whiff of softening you up to, er...cocaine... thinking about drugs got in...but...I guess...never mind it. the masquerade began everyone had a face / when i say face i mean three faces and when i say three faces i mean nothing more // their cracks in such a story that I can picture slip up onto the webbing of each window and it's clear: i is not asking at all about that. it would be so rude of me just try to remember : I have heard it said that there is a plaque commemorating the erection. this cement--i am a real asshole and it’s a lonely world to be without. i’ll kick you when yr not singing pretty like that damn
BIRD. glass cylinders with crossbars and metal netting tautly drawn if it isn’t too much trouble i’d like a stick of dynamite i’d like a stick of [kate or michael in the form of you] to put in the center of the book / this excuses and recluses / and then it could really blow. not like this with words all locked together [insert together for apart] but like they should like they promised [i don’t believe you] when we [i] was [were] little : like in CARTOONS you see them BLOW! and then everything scales out like piano wIRE. at the auditorium outside the tree there if it isn’t too much trouble i’d like a stick of dynamite to compel a cut in yr posture. anything else you want while I’m already burning? yr innards prevent vision. Beautiful
kathryn l. pringle is an American poet living in Oakland, Ca. She is the author of fault tree (Omnidawn, 2012), RIGHT NEW BIOLOGY (Heretical Texts/Factory School, 2009), The Stills (Duration Press), and Temper and Felicity are lovers.(TAXT). Her work can also be found in the anthologies Conversations at the Wartime Cafe: A Decade of War (WODV Press), I’ll Drown My Book: Conceptual Writing by Women (Les Figues), and forthcoming in The Sonnets: Rewriting Shakespeare (Nightboat Books).
Michael Nicoloff is a poet, critic, and wage laborer. His poetry and essays have appeared in 6X6, TRY!, The Brooklyn Rail, Frontier Psychiatrist, and elsewhere, as well as on 1630 AM KChung radio.