The chicken crows at midnight. Crows at four o’clock in the morning. Crows when it rains. Crows when the sun sets. Crows when sirens blare down our street. Only stops crowing to eat.

My head often feels filled with concrete. This is not to say congested. If anything, I am rarely sick.

It was night / Death slept naked / on God’s corpse

Like those jellyfish that swell with future oxygen, / I live into my gender, balloon constantly rising

a moon the size of Neptune / rising from the green muck like ectoplasmic / crossfire.

It takes one hand to imitate : the unabashed kidsfucking in their car : a bird on piano : near a spur linein the woods : but you hear a flock : j told…

Vexed light on dune evening primrose. The mineral lands denuded, / this still hurts.

The art cinema was a few blocks away from the lake, he wanted to take her there. She assented. He bought her a maple creamie and he licked his black raspberry with his thick tongue. They waited on the dock as the sun began to set.

In their entry on love, Berlant writes that we tend to (mistakenly) use the objects our desire attaches to in order to assume an identity— “you know who…

For Berlant, part of the problem of politics is that marginalized people have to accommodate the feelings of their majority counterparts in order to successfully…