a genreless literary journal
my light is chaotic
high as shit
of course
i’m sad
this winterland
so unfulfilling
i have been lonely
4 so many years
i have hated
presence
for so many years
it’s starting
to get ridiculous
today
never arrives
The way i need it to
i feel in a pool
of salt
the key
to my happiness
is the past
& it’s gone
empty
as it goes
locked
doubled
over / Floating
floating
in the blue
*
our economy is a hairline
Fracture receding
so thin so thin
my prophetic dream
can be summed
Up as follows :
Astrid astrid
i have a notice
for the man
when the somnambulist crashes
His Toyota tell him i’ve got work for him
in the city
Curing meats
*
I must say
i’ve been pretending
in my joy .
i am sickled thru .
the Weed / my Doppler
of grief hears me again
masala on the chair
the spill astounding
in my hand is the warmth
i’ve needed & it’s lacking
a genuine
ego
o time-empty time
deluge
bumping me off the road
David bowie the smoke
i blow out in need
of better love
friendship
broke
me Who doesn’t
hate that
effortlessness
i can’t produce
so much striving
i don’t know if i will
Ever have love
like that again
even if it
unmoored me
the pain
of family , too
bundled
like rations
protecting
itself shoving
tiny spoons
in my mouth
o
crane crane crane
it kills me
to open
and spoil
the landscape
of the party
my cup
poised
for convention
mouth
wet
faucet
broken
u
shirtless
in the tub
I loved you
when the room filled with pearls
Of busted tap i loved you
when we slipped
all around
o o o
sadness
pussy wet
with malaise
it caresses me
depression sopping
WET
it makes me
a bitch
on the shoulder
of some road
i grew up on
asphalt
habituated
to winter My father
knows nothing of me
and it makes me want
To perish in a way
i can never
extract
like the carrion
i’ve come
to see it as.
*
the lesson of age;
if you loved me you would never
fulfill me nor should i expect that
And thus.
love is hard because it is love is hard.
i don’t know if i have a fully formed sense
of empathy
i just need
Myself
Into being .
I need you
to open me watch me rot
on local television
the weather den
watch me guillotine
this globe
this epoch of carbon
emissions
my queer palm
curled around
all the lost pubes
of history
O!
what a mystery we’ve solved today.
what a world we’ve shattered like
what a world.
grace (ge) gilbert is a poet and lyric essayist among other things. their poetry chapbook, 'NOTIFICATIONS IN THE DARK' is forthcoming with Antenna Books in 2022. their essay collection 'the closeted diaries' is forthcoming with Porkbelly Press (2022). grace's work has been featured in The Adroit Journal, Ninth Letter, the Offing, ANMLY, Pidgeonholes, Hobart, Gargoyle, the Penn Review, the minnesota review, and elsewhere. they have received fellowships from the Rona Jaffe foundation/Bread Loaf and City of Asylum. read more of their work at https://gracegegilbert.com.
