4 by tracy dimond
Cosmic Electric Time after Elisa Gabbert What if the rainbows in my hair found a path through the cosmos to you? Will we move to the ocean for a love affair, the sand castles home until the tide breaks? Do you manifest destiny through personal relationships? Do you wonder if we displaced our hearts? Anyway, what war are we still in? Why do we still have daylight savings time— can’t we have double summertime? When will poetry wear the tan of professional wrestling? Maybe tans build bulk around the canon? How will my mind stop chanting self unstable? When will so close mean touching on a rooftop, telling the stars they will never be as human as our questions? Search Terms I’m conducting research on single poets conducting research. Selfies are moderated versions of the ego. They treat a lifelong condition: emotions. The NSA wastes time on my terms. This might be forward, but the weekly newsletter calls for transparent windows. Today I’m going to U-turn in the driveway of the most beautiful house in America. Now, think about this weapon of mass destruction: 80% of students require remedial reading. What's A Body I started a war on billboards but the resources in my emotional hedge fund need consultation. Make me a road-block on the George Washington Bridge. Can’t talk now, this 21st annual New Home Sale has me mouthing Webster’s Dictionary online: mechanical smiles. Do straight-edge get more done in the war on drugs? Does anyone care about this war on apathy? Every morning is a post-coffee morning filled with breaking news about the next maple-syrup apocalypse. Nest in my data of human behavior. I was afraid of being found out— until I realized everything is performance. Future Asana I wrote panic at the top of my five year plan animated with mothers walking babies in fermenting cages. Flowers rot in my hair, the rainbows I vomit are gray. I watch pollen float as dust while I collapse into corpse pose. Brain folds don’t cushion the thought that my body will turn into soup marinated in rainwater. |
TRACY DIMOND co-curates Ink Press Productions. She is the author of Grind My Bones Into Glitter, Then Swim Through The Shimmer (NAP 2014) and Sorry I Wrote So Many Sad Poems Today (Ink Press 2013). Her work has recently appeared or is forthcoming in Big Lucks, wu-wei fashion mag, Coconut, Everyday Genius, Hobart, and other places. |