origami unfolding paperplay. soulfood telling tales in dishevelling; windswept folded in pages. paper to play: origami poems of a telling: dishevelled stories held to the rim lipped to the dregs: rippling dyed and died words crumbed. duckling downe. puddled poems kissed into the wet dreams dance ink-ward my skin her ancient parchment letters splash her…
This evening on Twitter I found myself unexpectedly caught up in a translation challenge:H0ll0D0ll (monica) and takooba (Michael Willoughby) were attempting a shared translation of Anjtie Krog’s poem ‘Ma’… from its original in Afrikaans. Monica posted this version earlier wp.me/pHUI-8H Here is mine, along with the Afrikaans original …. Ma Ma, ek skryf vir jou…
Bones wore her clothes: She dressed in the death of Type: sullen hair; socialist footwear and poetry with soft black bangs. The centre of her bubbled Perrier; her gut running like a woodchuck bearer of the Intrinsic: soft morbid fillings cherries; life bowled over by her. Her smile wrung from skin into a bright attribute,…
be my cunt my mask my howl my shredded skin my shallow grave be my window be my floor my faith my scream my prowl be my pitch my dream my scuff be the cadence of my growl be my voice my hair my eye my bruised ego lest i die be my burden be…
To taste your skin free of conventional hinges; No openings or closings: no rampant fissures or emotional Demasques no sandy compounds to dune the weight of wanting or denuding the thrill - die-cast of ordinary expectation none such delineation Carve the memory…
Blown. Frayed. tacked. stapled to winds of stasis or Changelings Soul takes to the wearing of skin, April Fool; the tinned Carousel lullaby slices Heartache for rain. The mind turns up its collar against the chill. Horses go in the painted round and round and round, spilling Pathos like bitter coffee into a languid bowl…
