by Claire Donato
Brush flesh into twilight until the body wilts
inside a hammock, homeless. After a lesson in
bird gravitas, kneel, holding the camera. Is the
fixed definition of a limb across the street an
urchin pretending to be polymorphous? Neurosis
is a masquerade, he says.
But it feels awkward—a two-screen video loop
opposite stereo sound, color, 9 min, 18 sec. “The
mattress with my self-exposure thwarts the
snow.” “You’re editing my lipstick; it’s silky.” “I
discovered her nails and they are a recursive form
Again, the portrait in close-up: He pulls out my
hair, over and over for hours until I’m Chaplin-
like, mute on the bed.
Mimesis Abyss It Up
Crowd me to charade the chorus. Rewind the
edge of your nightgown, recycle this film,
pluck out the body’s surface. My lady chases
her shadow with legs and arms at her sides.
To pass through the scrim, I plead with
bombs: Resistance sublimates into (anti)
My current host of moods appears cross-
legged, a rendition of an Indian icon. It is
through this pyramid I see and feel you
swept away into this symbolic charade. Mid-
figure, I piss and curse and play inside of my
imagination. Your shadow produces healing
on the spot.
Destabilize me. Let me write onto your face
a masquerade, then cipher. The woman, in
an unrelenting wall of formlessness, whispers
the score in my ears. Is a mock puppet
hanging stars over my face? Stay silent.
Bird-Wool Must Buy
is time-honored hybrid
body types cartoon-like
with the insertion
of claws into my belly, I give birth
to a mutant—part werewolf, part
deserves the wild
sex, he says.