big time cat fancier


St. Anne of Blueberries

something hesitates / near the chamber where
some people are missing cats / but
only if they're fucked up and pretty / swapping one
dictatorial universe for another with wine

this is the true form of heroes / tackling
St. Anne on fire over newsprint with spirit
sweating a pimpled gossamer of surgeries

I will kill you / keep you in hell / and frost your bangs

I fear
I am

/ / /

we fear you will leave / walk / eat blueberries
she will have met a man at her feet / in the dance space / among crushed blueberries

and the dream of blueberries looms drunk and fucked between us
then comes a wave / and the forest next to us splits its pines
and we drink beer sweating / and stinking of pitch

St. Anne bags up fennel and lost antlers / around her the pines drone
she whispers back / everyone has a lovely time during shopping online
the woods do not whisper back / St. Anne enjoys watching the deer converge

She will insist on reading the lonely out of leaves / bringing it back to the water
and letting it fall from the clouds


Poetry is blowin' up all over this mother bitch!

Is disjunction dead... alive... horny?

Mark Wallace
Nada Gordon
Anne Boyer

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