@parisreview When I was young, I was drawn to the Navajo Night Chant, which I invoke in House Made of Dawn—“House made of dawn, / House made of evening light, / House made of dark cloud, / House made of male rain, / House made of dark mist, /
@parisreview House made of female rain, / House made of pollen . . .” It’s otherworldly, a spiritual statement. It’s not poetry, but it is something like poetry.
on the operating table, the radio is outpouring pure silver, static blood. and she asked me what it felt like. i said, ‘it feels like a cold blunt object pushing down underneath my skin.’
Do you see the money that colonises our blood?
'Decreation', is a poem I wrote about surgery, simone weil, the body (read: disassociation from, out of body experiences) and Frank O'Hara in our crumbling world.
Available to read in @takahemagazine 108 🫀
https://t.co/MipLP3FYD8
i fell asleep reading the footnotes of Decreation.
in the dream, the surgeon asked me something like, when did this symptom begin? and is there anything that worsens it?
i said, i thought that if she excised my flesh i would feel better.
i felt guilty, so guilty for being sick.
what is the purpose of a gallery? Poet Jessica Lim explores Ruth Ji Li’s booth at Redbase and reflects on water, borders, identity – the act of capturing something that refuses to be captured.
https://t.co/CvXXP7sgjl