Tuesday 133: Amelia Territory
Poetry month, No. 7
Amelia Territory
is washing the feet of travelers in the national park.
Still
the hottest girl in the dark hall
parquet scene,
all feline huff and amp crunch, sulking
like a napkin.
Why do we invent anything?
Why not just slap
at their tails?
(You’re tired, sturgeon, and
you have no skin).
Watch her making cookies
for everybody now.
Just learnt to crochet
and armed to the teeth.
A big onion stuck somewhere
inside you
leaves the taste
of lead in the back.
I want you to breathe and picture
this whole scene for me:
Watch close
as Amelia Territory smiles a gentle cleansing
rain.
Sometimes I feel like my best work is my worst and vice versa. I don’t know. If I get too confused about what I feel is working and what isn’t, I think I’m probably not reading enough. Like if you’re playing baseball, taking ground balls or hitting off a tee is this reorienting experience. It’s as mental as it is physical. Sometimes you feel lost and you need to mainline some sentences, just get the feeling of your mechanics back down. Start seeing the ball better.