I'm not the chosen one


Dan Christensen, April Blue, 1995


Inventing the Body
-- Dora Malech

The lungs were my idea.
Shins, his.
Breasts, mine, though he agreed.

He tried to name his favorite organ
Mr. Winky, but titles were forbidden from the start.

Laughter was a vital sign,
amended to a ticking in the chest.

We called the heart the heart
because we could not say its real name,
even to each other, even in the dark.


Tired
-- by Sarah Manguso

I'm tired of looking at this blonde's well-formed ass
but she sure can weed a garden.
Does she know I dream about her white eyelashes?
Does she know all ambition has the same source?
The gray bird describes a shape,
the deer bounces up a hill,
many animals walk on the earth and silence me.
Thanks, gravity.
Thanks, big-ass blonde.
Weed away! Let the light burn you,
the sun distract you from the blazing world!
For death is coming! And love will be new!


Untitled
-- by Jeanne Lupton

60th September
honeybees wild
in yellow blossoms
I was born
for middle age