raggedly transect; surgical imprecision gasping silent red

I feel like every time I weigh in by saying ham is disgusting there's a "but wings, you literally do not eat pigs" implicit look I *have* eaten everything, a lot of pig is bad but some of it is really good ham is not among those

your kisses are like pigeonmilk

running egg yolk throat opening, shattered ruinous spill over breasts

his master's listless feet [] stopped at the [] starless [] spasms of [] moth [,] dissolved in the prism of [] gilt [] conflagration [...] when stripped and shiny [] girlish [] melancholy [] of polished wood [] ringed with red [] the foreglow of another such [] black trunk [] gilt [] dregs [] ivory

muddy, unflinching/paper/strip/down/weeping/want/along the darker passages of/Victory/glittering in its darker setting/hands/covered his face/dancing/slipped/into/pale/muted/darkness/and loose/broken by paler/gash/burying his/need/in the uncertain light/a black/thin and uncertain/hand/clutched nothi

I'm learning so much about cow husbandry

I love soup

oh the list exists again, no doubt has for some time missing at least a couple friends so if you're looking at it, remember it's definitely, partial

dr3nk

just saw a beautiful traincar, blue ridge clay dust pink at the top, mottled transition to that dead stucco off-white, all beautiful hard matte surface and gently angled curve

gif that answers to your name, or, The Red Acolytes Bathed In Flames Faced Madeline On Both Sides

reading the redactions softly and thinking about how the lacunae imply caesuras that in truth happen hardly enough, letting each brief image bleed into the next and share words, that endless onward tug and the time flow that feels like hallucination

eventually I will have read enough Octavia Butler novels that I will stop mentally calling her Olivia Block, the name of a Chicago avant garde composer

!!!

I feel so seen

vomit stars on me

I don't think it's difficult even with the threat of death by fascism in diaspora to hold that it would be better to give up the right to aliyah for a Palestinian to have that right instead

Slots are back open !

I was very late to the inn, having been thrown from my previous horse some way along the road to Boscastle Pike. The traitorous creature had reared up in alarm at some spectre visible only to him, launched me cleanly from his back into a thorn hedge, and vanished into the rain and darkness.

everything hurts I have to do so much massage and stretching so often

whispers of winter architextures mock fall leaves what stays, what decays

this was meant to make fun of myself and question my coping mechanisms, but I guess we're planning things now

poetry of the flesh[] buried[] did not come[] damp jade,[] impossible black[] white[] cautiously kissed[] the sun acquired a beautiful cobalt sheen—[]white flanks[] fourteen and wet[] with flashes of copper.[] feathers[] analogous[] wing tips[] lesbian[] with[] sweat[] overwinged[] flesh or voice[]

tensed up the wings[] dripping with[] moth-flaked []light[] in the hollow of the white[] sheen[] skirted the wing[] a trickle and gush[] half-closed lips[] underneath[] her lover[] hot and breathless[] incest[] at the last throb[] in the water[] yellow ivory carved[] sunlit[] in the cracks[]

came[] iridescent wings humped, half rose[] melting[] through the clouds[] black sheath[]on bare[] livid[] salt[] its blood-red glow[] moist[] through the rich black strands[] a pale[]-breaking[] black, grey[] richness of color and contour[] flawed[] angel—[]impetuous moths[] among[] ochre[]

[] to fluctuate[] "blue"[] devotion[] whoring[] in the sun-dusted[] raven-black, his teeth[] and humid dark[] radiant[] synthesis from[] shed[] vein.[] the veins of [] ash[] angel[], bronze-framed[] blood revealed[] scarred and strange[] dark or darkish skin[] curved[] and a slow swallow[]

milkwound draining, slowly, featherstained

what if, instead of handling my emotions in any way, I wrote another book-length piece of avant-garde poetry likely to be banned as morally degenerate from monetized platforms

Description: Copper Black

est-ce que c'est aujourd'hui qu'on reviendra à Mallarmé ?

not me going to refill my water and forgetting to bring the bottle

I'm cold send skeet

save me Turkish store cheese bread

whorlcarved abscess rose-buttressed lacunae split spilled wet albumin

haphazard splashes scrawling, in rusty carmine a bloodier tongue

gleamslit in hanging, thin gauze and the light smells of angels eyetongued, you reach to swallow cutlimning numbing thirst, and it takes your wrists veins in veils, in swallowing light thread after thread and need no more

veil-liquor glassed on lacquer wings milky-indigo; nacre-pitted in shadows cold season kneel and saffron-red, where breaths twist ribs convulsive tiny mountain flowers across blank eyes lace frost

apophene salt-mycelia grafted bronze murmurwing stainwarbling in coarse hoods black-glazed saprophile

apophasist

buy Nearshore by Jana H-S on itch I am no longer asking

addendum: telling someone they're "being a contrarian" like this tells them you think they're a liar and don't value their thoughts or feelings

gentle reminder that someone disagreeing with you is not being a contrarian just because you assume you're so right about everything that nobody could sincerely disagree

Elżbieta Wójcik-Leese's 'Preter/Natural Appetite for Chalk' - and a further 8 new intergraphia Series 4 pamphlets - is available here: intergraphia.cargo.site/Series-Four

I read a story about a lote tree, and the ever-present Auslander-Celan black milk merged with its fruit and spilled itself on morning, waiting for no-one to drink it

sometimes you just need to hear someone rhyme "wnmout 3lik" and "bghik" or similarly low-hanging fruit

certain creatures were made to lap at wounds

blanket made of wings

can't think today :) scatter my tomb with bits of old blue plastic