Traffic

Deep in

where the breath scorches

and burns from too much

just too much

buried

under

wigs,

plans, maps, memories,

strategies

 for catching rotting muses.

Traffic of all our world projection causes gridlock symphonies

The concrete always calls my name,

the one I never speak.

In between your words, I see

your breath construct

edifices out of passion.

You hide in goals, plans, future and success.

We are all so damn American,

at war for over a year; The music

of guns and radiation become my digestion.

All is fire. All is consumed in incinerated television sets

and jagged hours in between time.

We scream what we hush in dark drunk moments we don�t remember.

Cleansed in black holes, purged w/out recognition or consciousness, a confession

w/out responsibility, w/ closed eyes and  tongue lapping

air heavy w/ the memory of  stale smoke.

Express your freedom in the piss you take all over the neighborhood,

Shaking your vagina towards the heavens.

Can anyone ever tell what time it is ?

What is the name

The name for this?

So maybe I can share it with someone.

What is human movement in the absence of time? In the absence of breath of language

What is language in the absence of human minds? 

What is love in the absence of history?

Laws Of Addiction

Night of 5 unfinished

conversations

Inside,

A defunct fire station

Beside, 

hidden silos of lust

Under,

the Fremont bridge.

Our breath connects us w/

All other creatures.

I dreamt of you last night.

You flew me in a plane

And showed me tricks.

Loss of addiction

In the fiercely eaten night

            Of syrup & languid contra diction

Between our mouths and our eyes

Languid erotic contradiction between our mouths and our eyes

Heavy breaths in june

Between soft breasts

And tumid elusive stigmatas

Stolen pop culture ideals

And orange twin Popsicle spirituality.

Laugh        gasp            cry

Heave

In  between

Cartwheels

And licking the melted ice

Cream off her nimble fingers

In the swollen breath of night.

As all our creatures

Lick the ice cream

Off the fingers of their life.

Laugh gasp cry

Heave

Levels of reciprocity

Is everything reciprocal?

Faded black & white =

Levels of ecstasy

I am learning to unfold

A mesh of ease and effort

 To achieve

            And achieve nothing

Raw

            Vulnerable

   Ecstasy.

I am learning to unfold

   A mesh of ease and effort

  To achieve

          And achieve nothing

Petal

            By fucking

Petal

Flesh In July

Flesh in July

Ripe w/ august desire.

Ripe, swelled

w/ 6 mos. of winter�s

Harbored liquids.

Always act w/ one blind

eye.

Evaluate lack of jeweled

Sight

             into a crash/ shower

of meaningless facets.

The diamond mind is merely decoration.

Listen to your   f  l  e  s  h.

Listen to your own neon

electro sonic noises

as they urr & sizzle.

We are all in

Mythical proportions

of maternal rage�

Avenging our

      Murders

            Rape

      Tongues

          Injustices

    and Lusts.

Dithyrambs

Dionysiac    frenzy

     Glass is                   constantly

                  Shattering                    around  us.

Buildings bulldoze chaotic

Daily. Our childhood

playgrounds �raized

w/in us

Daily.

Destruction

            & creation � constant

Change

& disgust � constant

Loss

            & gain � constant

Renunciation

            & excess- constant

Desire

            & disguise- constant        

motion lust neon

and insatiable

desire for supple

breasts/ beasts

that will soothe the hunger

(or at least be hungry w/ you)

Please do not remove your glittering beasts.

Don�t remove your glittering eyes.

Like that wood nymph in the myth

Who rips her eyes out,

hands them to a guy

Because she is sick of being

sought after for her physical beauty, her flesh

You are so Joan of Arc�

Hallucinatory.

Tender and alive. You love

Horses, armor,

And naked women.

You want to change all the injustice.

So do not remove your glittering breasts

Or eyes,

Your hallucinatory insightful mind,

your raging heart.

Let me conquer you,

Tender and alive. We�ll be

pirates together.

We will run so fast through

The neon blue prosthetic midnight

That we leave our flesh

Behind us

Amanda Deutch is a young wandering brat, who often carries all her belongings with her in her backpack.  She has been writing poetry since she was a toothless brat. She loves graffiti and urban decay. She has work in Barrow Street, Watchword Press and Artsy Mag. Her chapbook The Subway Series can be found at St. Marks Books in NYC, St Marks Poetry in NYC and La Palabra Caf� in Portland, Oregon.                                                                                                                          

<<Back   Next>>