x
my brain is
an egg creating itself
a clone of
being
a buddha of
farce
fixating on a lack of reason
this
suffering of absence says nothing
the sculptor
fell unleashing the brain on
amphetamine
fractured between two kinds of electricity
through
transparency mirroring polyester
and brocade
lipstick on a pig
an enigma
outwaits itself
polyester
comes pre- prepared
it will
never die
passion
manufacturing itself
by remote
control the brain is without
itself
until it
dissolves
(stays quiet
in its facelift )
mumbles
evoking a formula
into this
device I pour myself
l left the words in a hole
this strangeness of
being
xiv
desire with
its concave smile
i wore it
all day
intimate and
cruel
the rain
drops its
wet skin
in all its
nakedness
the shiny
flesh
is all
surface
the orange
marigold
touched with
reason
and barely
an adult
____________________________
Mary Kasimor has been writing poetry for many years. Her recent poetry collections are The Landfill Dancers (BlazeVox Books 2014), Saint Pink (Moria Books 2015), and a chapbook, The Prometheus Collage (locofo chaps 2017). Her chapbook, The Nature Store, will be published this spring by Dancing Girl Press.
____________________________
Mary Kasimor has been writing poetry for many years. Her recent poetry collections are The Landfill Dancers (BlazeVox Books 2014), Saint Pink (Moria Books 2015), and a chapbook, The Prometheus Collage (locofo chaps 2017). Her chapbook, The Nature Store, will be published this spring by Dancing Girl Press.
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