Just a short one today...
I am anxious to preface these all-- work in progress, but isn't that inherent? If I wasn't just publishing these as first drafts scrawled on the subway or between e-mails, I wouldn't put any of them up. I'd be too self-critical, protective, invested to share. And I think the only way I'll finish out this month is by just letting myself go, (it's the hardest thing for me to do with my writing). I am excited to have 30 skeletons to play with come May. Already with these 4 pieces I'm able to articulate so many kinks in my process, (if you know me you know I don't think kinks are for working out ;) ). Mostly that I jump about 50 feet ahead, leaving big ol' gaps. At first go, I lay down like half the story, beginning and end, often leaving out the middle where the two ends are more transparently connected. Oops. PS I hate titling things.
Fiber from the Husk
A man takes up machete in Brooklyn
hacks open the fleshiest green coconut
for the fleshiest girl standing in line
alone. I take it/ carry his calculation
my fat ass, swift metallic light, wet brow--
he reaches out, winks
an incurably long lash. I take it
hoist the ten pound reflection
onto my hip. Carry it like a child
through the fair, my tits
tipping over to one side, bearing
the weight of gifts not sure
what to accept as free