Thanks to Hugh Behn-Steinberg, my friend and former professor at CCA (he let me endeavor to teach Anne Carson to first-year undergrad fine arts students, all of us so bewildered but not unhappy in the coppery East bay campus light that day) and thanks to the current student staff of Eleven Eleven, my work appears in the new issue.
It is part of the "real time" poem I started writing with and through Kyle, which I will probably be always writing, more as process/guardrail/marker/momentum, rather than product.
Here is a piece of it: (Kylie, our tube is still existent!)
skim
stroke his back with the tips of fingers. Fabric particulate swirl—graying behind the eyes, also beside us, above the bed, pulsing—generates fractal arms,
sheaves mind from body, his windows tiled horizontally, unable to recall days or types of kin. mine irradiated, floodlight for a new bone structure, rattletrap, let us out,
cleaves the darkness of back with finger pads, our whole viscous mush from the shine of his lower lumbar/my metatarsals. gleaming, rinse. entire
plummeting, while mind still floats—two of us ejected over the ocean, an erasing conjoined sailing, blue indistinct from black. not what I wanted, pull back on the sleep throttle
Read the new Eleven Eleven issue with the rest of my poem here.
