The Brooklyn Rail

NOV 2017

All Issues
NOV 2017 Issue





regard derealization and depersonalization as independent constructs
dance as code for resistance
staunchly child free
re:bound anxiety
the free market preoccupies
occupations insisting they enforce
investment protection
we know all too well
man is a product you can't sell
forced liberation treaties
only sick people
forecast lobbyist
profit promises
single white female
as a rock
a wounded animal
you are no one
from the very start

determined net on

i picked forget
hurt ton host
again takes a rock
costly tears
and force
now i see my
horizons clear again
you parking
as if your rights
wore hats
picked for going

like a wounded animal
violation orphan aborted
printing on the earth 
keep the gun to his head of security or die

grind sparrow

the vacuum cleaner
she never touched it
before bedtime
worn panties deposit
from panties to solve





Most of the men took the last name Fourier thinking it was French for furrier.

Part coyote dog walking
semi-arid pink adobe
to keep the mini golf in.

There is a shortage of pink yarn
but no shortage of white

feminist mystique

still celebrated by yelling FUCK which
urban legend holds as an acronym for Fornication
Under Consent of the King
but was really middle Dutch for strike
push copulate with

chamber fantasy rooms
side pocket doors
in what was
a massive pink adobe structure
hurtling through space

but space itself wasn’t black
there were blue skies
arid ground

a museum bookstore selling lingerie
searched searched search
for gold round every frontier corner

and when she kissed him
his eyeballs became silver disks
spinning in his head
and he recited theory as poetry





Sure, the plans have already done in the drawer. The one you need to register after the disaster to divide the world anew. Of the so-called people blood has licked. Talk about the so-called representatives of the peace mission. Then reattach the legs, the body clearing away debris left on battlefields. This is the premise. It can only be beat. So as that we could not have had everything ever. But ask anyone if they want it visited upon their own bodies. The violence, which can take a life. A “sorry” greater than death. Even safe, sure is nothing. Who’s going to confess? Then, when the young question repeatedly the well-known sorry for the first time will history be made? Be made again.





blow of the toothpick, you know? at the level marked panel prohibited indicating it could be simple
take a toothpick burst the words to a Siberia of undetermined origin
not from around here this corner this house
anyway the repairman funds the toothpick lately it’s still affordable
weaknesses full of charger but it works less and less taking forever to load
any little movement disconnects and i have to have a new tickle





Work like a motherfucker because you ask the question. Pink flowers on a lei. Lotus. Unsilk mimics fragrance tracing back to the era of salmon pink.

Did you mean sunsilk? The artist must expose the nipple. Pinch it. Bite, until it asks for the tongue.

Melt a toupee around the handle of a toothbrush.

Create an implement for stabbing.

Pry open the molecular

cellular spaces in rebellion
’twixt sandy cracks
of open country

parable of a wind that blows through the heart
suggesting laundry on the line
baked in sun smell

become tired
use a cement saw

go away and keep going away.

Make the Nazis swim in pee while Wonder Woman watches
rundown the prairie hill

the hand but not the eye
take out the eye
and see with hands
spit and swallow

anxiety tortillas
sexual asphyxiation
tactile blindness
scent memory



Stacy Blint

STACY BLINT is a multidisciplinary artist and writer living in Wisconsin. Current projects include Disappearing Books and documentation of The Art Bunker, a site specific work. Her poems have appeared in Big Bridge, The White Wall Review, Matchbook Magazine, and Drupe Fruits. She is the author of the chapbook 13 Golden Hooks (Saint Earl Press). Her writing has also been featured in the book for the album Death Blues, Ensemble.


The Brooklyn Rail

NOV 2017

All Issues