Kristina Marie Darling and Chris Campanioni A Collaborative Poem

Feeling a little
Like Orpheus except
We were meant to
Look back
As is our nature

Do men grow
Gay with age
I think as I
Bring one's eyes into
My gaze, nothing turns

Me on like my
Morning suffocation
Still I want to
Talk about the two
Story set, the station

At night, the pleasure
Of picking you out
In a crowd, all the violence
Done in the name of
This stuttering flesh

(They paid to have the scene run backward)kkkkkkIn the dark, in the
kkkkkmiddle
Of day like

The tempo of a good film, a moving neon sign provided by the puddle
kkkkkllreflecting it on asphalt

(The city could be anywhere) kkkkYou don't need to know
Who steps in when
I step out


Sunday, 4:39PM
January 28, 2018



&I didn't think you wanted to know about the man who followe me from the emtro stop, how we only seemed to be meeting for the first time.

He wouldn't tell me where we were going, let alone the color of his second wife's hair. Abigail, Luisa, Meg. The names of women started to accumulate, a heap of flowers in which I would eventually drown—

Needless to say, the space between his mouth and mine bore the weight of it all: the plucked rose, the bouquet, the notes you slipped beneath my door. The envelope & its scorched papers.

Days later, he's still stammering about the time he touched my hair, blue dress trailing from the platform. You see, there's a way I can leave a room without even getting out of my chair.

Now that you're listening, the same question is burning at the back of my throat. Now I'm looking up from the dictionary, now I'm raising my hand—


Thursday 7:03PM
February 1, 2018



but I never cut the other

kites kkklll& since kkkkkkkthen I

recall how I was made

me kneel with my

facing outward

a pail full

dark kkkkkkkkkkkksky kkkkkkkkknot to mention

other things kkkkkkkkkkkk& my two hands

designed to be flown

pressed together kkkkkkkkkkkkkk& seeing that

I could get some air

the same to me

as to the others

again to what

question was already covered

facing outward &

forced my head down kkkkkkkkkkwithout my

knowing just as I was

a long string

about to

cloth or plastic

come closer to me

I shook

my kkkkhalf-carried

to leave something like that

as above an altar

unreturned

& start to see

how another was standing

in for

my body (one

always reads

kjust as I was about to

too much

kbreathe deeper

into things)

it is always

a question of

kcutting kkkk& this was

repeated again & again

knot to mention

my youth as far

kagain & again

as my chest

k& called in another

again & again

kto accept the first part

(several times in a matter

k& personally took (a)part

of minutes to which

kheld me with my feet up

I could only sing silently

in the air

a hymn I had known kkkkkby heart

kto try some other method

as a child)

kam I supposed to

lie then

kon a bed of news

papers kkkkkkkkkeeping

kto myself

kso to speak

(I was once again

k& this repeated

silent)

kthinking what's been left

out kkkkkkkkkkwhat I can't

do you

kremember kkafter

syndication

kafter the careful

krendition

to be read

but I never

kmore than two

ways kkkkkkkklcut

to a

question kkkkklI

kcredit

sequence &

ktry & protect

the seething flesh

ktoo large for the film

so as to never be

kshown together in a single

shot

this is what D&G

call

a smooth space


Friday, 9:365PM
February 2, 2018


Back to 52.2