Ugh, crushing is the WORST. Makes me want to go back to fucking my seriously-involved and highly-unavailable exes.
As Corpse Loosened, bare, profusely female,
the pulse in my thigh
As Hair Clear of furies, of flowers,
the shade of dry paste
As Skull Fissured:
an unlit chandelier
As Dirt The ants sift through
And with no fingertips, imagine
As Dust You can hang the air on me
The Body is the Inscribed Surface of Events!
A Volume in Perpetual Disintegration!
The Body is Always Under Seige!
Although these [gurlesque] books all inhabit different stylistic approaches, they seem to share a sense of revolting, bodily-based horror associated with femaleness and a desire to birth this horror or abort it or deconstruct, reconstruct, or vivisect it.… I’m also interested in poetic/art content in which the female body is some kind of representational battleground.
Juliet Cook’s review of Maximum Gaga (the rest of it here)
I flip the channel.
Pink O-ring. Pink baton.
The medical landscapes straggle through me,
toting their abstractions.
White jets. Jellies and occlusions.
(In the far corner of the screen, on a wall crucifix, Jesus suffers
the ecstasy of the plastic.) Then — static, static.
In the cracked shell of a TV
lies a pile
of dusty limbs
and a single lotus.
The lotus says: No exit.
No exit from these heiroglyphs
on the pavement of non-meaning.
No exit from a life circumscribed
(I say: Like Hell.
I place white-out here, over the meaty celluloid that it may congest with sick stars
I scratch out these skewed limbs
hanging on the tree of sight.
I cut out chrome skies, pink anemonies, chalk cliffs
and glue them onto the patient screen.
We are not bodies, we are nimbuses of static
seeking our starry capes of flesh.
And I, without you,
How do you feel about the critical response to The Hounds of No, and has it had any effect on your writing?
I’ve been totally stunned by all the positive press. I’m still convinced I’ll be eviscerated. I’ve always wondered why people go to Quentin Tarantino and Lars von Trier movies in droves, devour everything Radiohead puts out, and then go home and read lame Wallace Stevens knock-offs. It makes no aesthetic sense (not to mention political sense). So I’m glad to find that people also like poetry books that act like a crash site… I also thought people might think that I level all this grotesque, over-the-top material at them just for shock value and miss the ethical and political stakes in my work. That hasn’t been the case, though. I’ve been amazed at how well people have articulated what’s at stake in my work.
Do you believe that poetry can create change in the world?
More than anything, I believe in poetry’s ability to change us by disrupting our habits of language and image-making. I believe in poetry that takes tremendous risks, poetry in which the stakes are extremely high, poetry that connects with the perpetual state of emergency we find ourselves in. And it’s not just the current political climate I’m referring to. Being embodied in flesh that decomposes and that is inscribed with all manner of cultural values not of your choosing is also a state of emergency.
The rest here.