Wednesday, February 27, 2013

you don't even own your own violence

​when i spill a full glass of water across my antique dresser and remember that nothing is mine, or good, i find your clover, dry and intact, until i try to touch it and its leaves disappear, crumble useless in my fingers. ​​
there will be no nonsense.
​how many times i tried to make you feel this. how even now i am slipping, how hard i am missing. i tried pouring it out for you, a silver stream from the cup -- how even then you missed it. not again. how my stomach still sings, toes tingle. it is all glamour, the imagined beauty of it all. ​​
it's been long enough that i can smile when i think of the park, the beach, the wedding. but at the thought of your face, my teeth clench, the truth of it makes the vision go sour.
But you don't even own your own violence
Run away from home-- your beard is still blue

Thursday, February 21, 2013

we all kill butterflies

​No animals were not harmed in the making of this film, or any other. there is not a one we can name, there is not a vegan film.
from the successful slap deaths of mosquitoes on our own sweaty bodies to the crickets we accidentally crushed in the moss, from the birds on skewers that nourished our bodies to the bird in the box that arrived frozen at our door, there was never no harm. ​​