Infinite Abyss

Being A Girl

I can't tell
Which came first.
Or Cher Horowitz saying,
"Should I leave a note?"


Global Warming 1

I thought I was hallucinating but it turned out it was just crickets
Which turned out to be neighbors
Which it turns out are a TV.

Hotline bling
Hotline bling
Hotline bling
(I knew you were my)

It's not summer
But the temperature colludes with the light and strikes a new temporal theme
A new season of transparent love
The anthropocene draws on gray paper with a dipped brush in swishes that dissolve
As they dry
The dinosaurs make their way to pre-fall
But their bones-
just got so hot they faded out
before they made it
All before four chairs turning
Wax on top of bones, got so hot, dripping off
There is a human myth about it

The window was open to account for the heat
that was on for the cold, which is gone.

Poetry In Motion

Accidental intimacy
Natural and honest moments
As described by an art director in a past life
Something, about the to and fro
And somebody you wish would just shut up
Everything, down to the sheen and smell
Privilege is part of the commute


You must be a bot
The way you regard me
Ever so clearly

The pin sins
In search of body

Info Session

Nodes in a tower
Far from the glittering city
Wrapped in a blanket of warm, new wood
Cohorts clothed in abundant
pattern like picnic cloths
Or a top a toy farmer would wear

far from the earth far
Far from the dirt and mud
Far the sky
The grass and bugs
The flowers far, and berries far, and cows
Far and roads crumbling
'neath the barrel of tires roaring, rumbling
Far the tower, close together
clothed in smooth tones, warm
A hand lain gently to face the other
no face and no hand at all

Fashion 1

More eyes pull more out
Dazzling at the surface
Attracting strings
Methodically fastened
Pushed like knife through butcher butter
Bleeding, blood is a color
Emergent constellation
Leaking, controlled like a decision
Meeting mid-platform

Push pieces in
Scan with hands for fleas through fur, beating
Set upon a beacon balanced
As an abacus
Counting, hail

Dental Insurance

Disc ridges blinking on a glass blank wall
Blurry window fake
Lashes melting next to an iron
Hunter-gatherer mistake
Scattering baskets on frozen ground
Sealing plastic apples with a clear wet brush
Bits of hay blown by stick in the finish
Making bubbles that are impossible to get out

Thanksgiving Poem

I wonder when the rush is killed
The rush of the whim
In the brush by the river, cold
In the fall
When the leaders leaving
Up to the bread'ns
Crushed with crumbs
and smashed with pudding

Treatise On Style

Dearest friend,

I'm working out an approach to style which is the opposite of design-

Raf pinned a mood board to his coat
Toss the mood board out the window with the
Old range rover
I'll pin the mood in the middle of my chest
Let it cost fifteen dollars
Let it glisten there, the t-shirt can follow
The form is ok to flop, even, to forget about

An approach to style that is punk, the essence of punk, in that it is productive based on negation-

Allow it to be a brat, angsty, a PMS bitch, even

Based only, and only, on "that feels non-"

That looks odd, that catches my eye
Nothing more complicated than a crow, attracted and building a bower, attracting in the same act

Ok, so also jazz, and also punk.

Punk-jazz selecting, post-gen-x...

I'm also calling out a generation which is cusp or trade, and only visble now, maybe, in the way time has newly hardened into mud-dessert surface and cracked apart now,
showing something only in its sychronicity with the way we think about picking out our outfits, glistening only in the way we discuss it, and pass it in the same act

And something can be invented in this approach to style, based solely on that-doesn't-go-yet

It seems negatatory



But it is hope actualized matter-energy, and Oops... It Always Was

Stained Glass

Joni Mitchell is a Frank Gehry feminist
And everyone is singing to themselves
The way, goes both ways
And I want images that are the wardrobe
Not conversations that are a rug,
a rug that is suddenly not there
There may be no magic without sex
No peppers without passwords
and what they have in common
The way the street curves making people's walkings off
The time you drunk drove into wearing a jersey
That's wrong with America
I would push them
Down, down
If at any time it was an option
Don't stop
Dead, all dead
Sparks go, what is a structure?
Come now, where is the wave?
Click the key

Lock your job, beginner's luck


self asking for work
that has meaning
you realize
the problem.

paid as a promise.

-de step nothing.

latch on the back.
try it? 
I told you

selfish I like it.

tapped on thee
back of the screen
with a baked stuffed haddock
-you see me now?

Bodega Man

He's not the most friendly

But, busy.

And also

I'm shy.

He takes the time to pack a straw with my Gatorade

And I let it happen

Even though the straw is too short for the bottle.

And it's bad for the environment, wasteful.

I stopped bringing bags to the supermarket
because I want the girls who work there to like me.

I didn't know the straw doesn't fit the bottle

until I get home,

which is also when I realize that he took the time, and care.

Ending Gentrification

You may feel like first you need a space—
that's not going to happen.
Maybe your space is a place to stand sometimes.
You can fold it up and take it with you when you walk around.
That's a little better.
You can fold it into a chicklet
And chew down gently
And swallow it inside you.
Now you have completed the first step to ending gentrification.

You can assemble a chain.
It can be any material
But NOT anything bought from Amazon.
You can't exactly choose where the chain goes.
Everyone around you, and everything you pass, are part of the chain.

You are allowed one nest.
The nest is yours, it is unique to you. It possesses everything you are and everything you want: the nest is your power.
Chance will determine what goes into the nest.
Everything around you, and everyone you pass, are technically part of it.

To unlock an expanded set of levels, ask a neighbor.

Sense of Humor

Nothing beats a well-timed cliché
In my book

NY ily

I made a space to fill
They call it the future
It catches my flailing
And crying
And meanwhile I'm walking


Just like that
Brick road
I won't forget
And I'm walking

Interview With A Doorman

He holds the key
To so many things
Like how the interior was designed
To replicate a ski lodge
It's based on a real hotel
Provocative in the winter
In the summer, well,

Why I decided to quit smoking

I saw a girl wearing an outfit I wouldn't normally like,
but it looked cute on her.
And I noticed she was smoking, and I noticed her hi tops,
which I would never wear,
but they were working for her.
And then I thought, she almost makes smoking look cute.

And then I decided
that the real reason I quit smoking was so that I wouldn't be a walking advertisement promoting smoking and making it look attractive.
Cuz I'm so cute.
But, one time when I had just finished being a teen, some teens were hanging out and I was on a work break
And the girls wanted to bum a cigarette, but the boy was trying to stop them,
in a way,
And I gave them a cigarette
because it was the feminist thing to do.

Are bits of data


What do you do with someone's living room
                                               on a laptop


A photo of the Pope


 in an Excel spreadsheet








We are the last who felt the forest.
Looked out, and saw something 

The Ant On The String

The things I loved...
without knowing I loved them.

Stalking myself on social media.

Reading my 2009 self

Telling me things I've forgotten.

So.. o.. this is what memory feels like. (the angel, the book, the video, communism).

Putting an education to use.

Good friends we've had, and friends we've lost.

I'm a dee jay in an evergreen =>

THEN                                                            TOO
                              FUSED                                                                                   NOW.

                                                                         (a car driving)

x           stich           x            stich           x           stich           x           stich           x        

An angel, A book,

A way to see it all at once.

:A disclaimer:

Subtle Braid Song


braid, braid.
(Subtle, subtle) braid braid.


I like your Subtle

I like your Subtle
(braid, braid)

Subtle, subtle
braid, subtle, braid braid


I like your Subtle


I like your Subtle, subtle, subtle
braid braid
I, I like your subtle braid.

I like

Your braid

I like your subtle, subtle braid.

I like

your braid

I like it (subtle, subtle, subtle)

Braid Subtle Braid Subtle Braid
I like your subtle braid.

A Poem Is A Prayer

A poem is a prayer a human writes.

Going Out

Time spent thinking
about another, benevolent force.
Time spent looking
for my cell phone.
The only key
For making sense of this world

Collaborative Performance Practice With Mouse and iMovie

The mouse is an agent
The wheat is agentic
The movie is an ancient ageist
Ken Burns is an effect
Bacon is a carcinogen
I am not attracted to "affect"
iiii am in a courtyard.
The trees are moving
As I walk past.
The building is gray
The building is a backdrop
The building is moving
The sky is still
while the leaves are moving
The mouse is dead
The flag is freaking
The sky is moving
The historian is effective
Somebody edited this
The likes are waiting
Na na na na


A Boy
Do Not Lean Sticker
The Door
Of The Train

He Coddles A Black Trashbag

The Pieces
His Pocket

His Dad
A Hello Kitty
And Mismatched
And Vest

Five Don't Sit Together
He Faces Away

Ana Mendieta

Textile study


A man in the bodega asked if I was Russian


The guy at the counter is de-facto part of the conversation

He thought I looked like someone he knew

No, friendly

I'm wearing Russian pins, I say. So maybe unconsciously you thought,

No, he just thought maybe I was someone's sister




I stopped a girl on the train in her tracks to ask about her personal style

We got to talking

She said when she noticed me she thought I looked like an FIT girl, "put together" in some way

I had no idea. I have no idea what I look like

She said she thought I was a New Yorker, based on how I look


She is from the Bronx

I was once drawn to a boy at a party who lived in Washington Heights

Both of these people were Spanish and had vintage-y style in a way that stands out, and I found myself talking to them

My maternal grandmother grew up in what is now Spanish Harlem, dark Italian

When she was five one day, no one showed up to walk her home, so she found her way back along the river, walking alone, all the many blocks.

Halloween Poem

We are sitting in a circle around a fire and it's July,

My sister had a secret room. A secret room inside. Inside the house. The house of my parents. 

We're not close,

The way the dresser rests against the wall suggests a missing boundary,
moved, alone,
a limit, undiscovered
until after
she'd gone.

We grew up together,

We're sitting in a circle, on the beach, and it's night and it's July,

My twelve-year-old cousin drunkenly
the recent history
of the first time
he fingered
a girl.

She found a way through a wall
With knowledge of space
on the other side.
A crawlspace
over the garage,
with access
from her bedroom.

She created a door
And no one knew
Not even me,

A house is a sovereign,
Not meant to have extra space,
Not known for unknown doors,
Not meant to belong
to a girl.

She sells pressed sandwiches
from the back of her van.
She follows Dead concerts,
she braids hair
for money.

It's all fantasy when it comes out.
As soon as it comes out it's fantasy.

We're not close, we grew up together,

My sister, a secret. 

A secret door. Inside. Inside the house. The house of my parents.

An Encounter

I encountered Neptune at a party on the last warm weekend of the year.

The roof, like a vacant parking lot.
Dim stars at flat night.
Deep lights from the street.

Clusters of us here

                                                            and there

             and there


Small trees growing out of elevated edges so you can't confirm the ground.

WE were on the dance floor when the music got house-y.

The party became a mass.

WE condensed. Pulsing, Body, Body, Body, Body. Two's and all of us.

And those who didn't know how to move
or couldn't find it filtered to the edge.
A fist. Closing
over sand underwater.

WE became a mass, moving.

His earring. Jewels. And necklace. Crystal. Painted. Dipping. Purple, orange, green.

Two of them, spun.

WE cleared a space,
a circle around. All the world and back in time.
Right here. Go, now , Go , go , Go , go.

The time and space of us emerged. Out of the mass,
and our studies
of a history that is partially ours,
but a distant present, up in Harlem, far away.

And I know people from Ireland are here. Dancing.
And the looks on his face were
pure, Glee, Fluid, Glow.

[Ba , Ba , Ba , Ba.]

I'm standing behind a budget disco queen.
The magic mostly works when more people are in on it,
making a career out of it,
a life.
And many of the people here are just kids. All that could change in an instant.
An other party.
We know what we are supposed to do,
but it isn't any less fun,
but the stakes are lower.

Back on the roof, I asked Neptune about her dancing style.
I thought it was a kind,
with a name, expecting a response.

She told me how she studies movement in her walks. Practice. Syncing all motions, to music and back to themselves. The other motions.
I tell her about face dancing, micro dancing, expressions moving as you walk. We both do it, we don't have a name for it, but we do now.

Neptune has undergone a great change, in the past three years or so.
She was contacted by a stranger on Facebook who had a dream about him.
I see a rainbow, in light, in a square on white and blue.

The stranger and Neptune formed a connection over time.
The original contact shared readings and spiritual guidance,
and through his own programming of his own movements,
a  c
                       e, until a new way of being

I ask if it is a religious practice.
Neptune knows there are others,
but his connection with the stranger is a personal spiritual relationship
that is only about themselves.

Other people get there in their own way,
sync in
        their own time.

Neptune reprogrammed himself to be open,
so he can sync and build an energy
that in the moment becomes a dance (with purple, orange, green).
And we swirl around. It wasn't planned,
in history, city, mass and body beat.

Programming is Neptune's own language, not adopted from the stranger or the books.
I ask if he is a device on the internet,
He found self-knowledge through a stranger's dream, and it makes it so he knows how to dance.

He is,
and I am too. And on it, off-on it
off and on it
on it, here

People ask
Who are you?
What are you into?
Neptune says he isn't anywhere. He can't answer that question
He's just in the flow,
to the all

Which is how he dances like that.

Open hand, over sand underwater

And why the trees are magic to the edge

And why the level
Body, Body, Body, Body, not the ground

Be Our Guest

Young, Wild And Feral

A found poem

The boy seemed unable to relate in any way
to other human beings
and tended to totally ignore their presence.

All his moments of pleasure
derived from an enjoyment of nature.

Unlike people in society, vision was not his most important sense.

He possessed an awareness of smells, which would pass undetected by others. 

He appeared
to make no distinction
between pleasant smells
and foul ones. 

He was unable to recognize his own reflection.

Nor could he differentiate between a picture and the real object.

He appeared completely impervious to temperatures.
He would put his hand in boiling water to grasp a potato, without apparently feeling the scalding heat.

He gave the impression of deafness.
An unexpected loud noise produced no effect.

The boy could hear perfectly,
but his reactions were selective.

Kim's Voice

Friendly, but still above you
It only talks about its immediate sphere
It speaks to that which it knows, intimately.

I'm hiding
Hiding in the unpopular
Infrequently visited
Lanes and fissures.

Here, though.

the internet is the infinite other, actualized.

Fantasy Walks

List Of Subcultures Via Wikipedia

Alcoholics Anonymous
Beat Generation, Beatnik
Biker, Motorcycle clubs, Outlaw motorcycle clubs
Cacophony Society
Dark culture
Dead Heads
Deaf culture
Freak scene
Furry fandom
Glam rock, glam metal
Gothic Lolita
Gutter punk
Hardcore punk
Heavy metal
Hip hop, B-boy, Graffiti
Hipster (1940s subculture)
Hipster (contemporary subculture)
Industrial, Rivethead
Jock (athlete)
Lad Culture
La Sape
Leather subculture
Maker culture
Mod, Mod revival
Military brat
New Romanticism
Northern Soul
Otherkin, Vampire lifestyle, Therianthropy
Psychedelia, Psychonauts
Queer culture
Riot Grrrl
Role-playing gamers
Rude boy
Science fiction fandom
Skinhead, Gay skinhead, Redskin, Trojan skinhead, White power skinhead, Suedehead
Straight edge
Swing Kids
Teddy Boy
Vampire lifestyle
Video Game culture
Warez scene