FANZINE

I couldn’t bear to do again what I
had already done. That’s how I
got here and so loud, alone with me alone in this shit. In other words, last time I
was up in our song was that night in winter you moved in making pealing

noise on the spread of what we decided——Moss grows here, you know? It’s absolute and

unbelievable, our countries, their stoneworks hit with moss fire, it’s redemptive, it’s the

brightest stuff when the sky is a concrete lid. Children wash on rock-strewn beaches: heads

in little crocheted caps—I

take pictures—appealing to what. Story, then—

keeps unfolding us. I
-’ll take my leave now, Good luck. I
-’m hearing contractions pulling apart. I
-’m hearing time pardoned for now of its discontinuities. I
-’m speaking of hearing it all thrown up. I
-’m taking a masculine direction. But let’s not start again with

that race conversation—what ‘race conversation’?—, I
-’m migrating now, I
need to stop thinking about it, I
need to keep going, I
thought I
would get out so fast, I——

between me and you I
really got sensual. I
-’ve got my favorite position but I
-’m jarring that taste. Pardon me, I
-’m taking time out here and Give me it right I
-’m a line in your eye, a sparrow, what’s with this collapse. If we don’t start again with

the old hypotaxis, I
love my city built on a grid, I
can’t imagine it otherwise, New Anne Taylor on the right. What
 
has to be done now is finding someone to pick up all those bodies before the birds and

crabs get to them. Best not to——I
won’t. Flesh’ll country us, show us to us, Good luck,

——————–

_{Jac Nelson is a multimedia poet living between the Puget Sound and Minnesota River Valley regions. Their work deals primarily with the ethical lives of art and the artist as these emerge from a context of inheritance: ancestry, language, land, trauma, coercion, and choice activate their aesthetic search for multigenerational healing and connection. Recent work was shown at Gay City in Seattle Wa, and published by Black Warrior Review, Gramma, 111O, and Otoliths.}