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The Brooklyn Rail

NOV 2020

All Issues
NOV 2020 Issue
Poetry

six


horrors our heart thru cigarette smoke an IUD
wolfbane these mindful wolves always been here rats of
care, stones, am I going into exile or pointless skeleton stitch
just sitting all doubly slowly I back into death’s gentle hippocampus
directness makes a surprising emanation without apologies
she obeys
she obeys what bleeds casting me in changes or dust-crystal bone
yeah? humping on the carboned sufferings, my feet cold with hunger
the sea scratched out, your mouth will swallow my hole in its hole fish
all slick with suchness, reading my body as you do
I bequeath these dirty thoughts to moonbeam and tapered thieves
who jerk off the focus of my heartz and my eggz it’s unworldly
to be watery-eyed so hard for you telepathic
joyous I save what was dislodged internal primal pillows of cardboard realms









unfuckable revenue streams is that what you want??
your death will go uncreated, roll the voice into sand
cannot liberate delusion and become part of the competition
one grey day I woke up eager ensconced by realityz tremor film
became so much like a convoluted dirty old street
selected with fire its jolt narrative components


voice memo on Friday: in luv with emanation
interruption-


lick me across spectrum merchant in vertigo interior
across entropy buildings scaffolding towns wardrobes grails
lick me across certain planets that share their blood
across beauty reasoning and language


wuz blue form of beautiful horse wuz reborn as tree of bone
the boundaries of breath know no shrinking nor folding chairs









I kill the deer it gleams as prayer disappears
on hand robbed of succor, somnambulant
blood on tile, write space of sleep, water shape
of jaguar at rest, I board his macroscopic gaze
cornered fur, spots of budded blood, from
non-understanding I am dug into earth, five
fathoms below scoured heliotropic
personality, rough red paws dig upwards
not one swearword
or gasp
   for fallen things disappear not in discourse but loam









there will be nothing there
my season is gem consciousness, rose, bee
syllable gauzy a cobweb wheel of space, my own
beings’ center mute again, a seldom tooth left by
door, make me visible in the haze, saffron owls
flicker oblivion midnight, the future doesn’t
declaim water, simple things unweb unwind a little
tuft of fur ruffles in wind, it has something also to do
with earthworms, loop of sunset, unhemmed capacity, letters









I didn’t
not sleep I watched
                               the dragonfly
my hand became ashes as all things flie
                            a realm of altars who wait
               starred by the Sea
                        sun dries all Water

                            including me









brains, balm & dew

peep Dog Valley
     silver sauvignon
         wrung me
   so I hung this bowl

a shaft pitched in mothz

           PostSex
           Dog Valley
           PostSex
           Breathe A Proviso
                    Purple Pages
           Fluent Sea & Slow Dead
WHAT’S THE SUMMER HEADQUARTZ HONEYCOMB
       BRAINS BALM & DEW

Contributor

Sara Larsen

Sara Larsen is an American poet living in Berlin. Her newest book is a polyvocal exploration of punk and poetics, The Riot Grrrl Thing(Roof, 2019). Previous books include Merry Hell (Atelos, 2016), and All Revolutions Will Be Fabulous (Printing Press, 2014).

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The Brooklyn Rail

NOV 2020

All Issues