Carleen Tibbetts


you indecipherable accident of mirage
doing your dumb gazework
your whoosh of revision
the spirit predates the self
a vitriol unfolds amongst the brackets
its a matter of hate really
a rotting kinetics
oftscaled in the worst ways


to body such investiture
the V of her
faux virgin/foe virgin
rotted harbinger
unaccustomed to the wet
the redundancy of
supreme texture
the corpsed morphosphere
of a necrotic moon
elided from sky


previous experiments yielded
a certain breed of happiness
too much for some
fuck the haters
the air flaunts the naked word
the word stripped
bare of its bachelors
finger the empty
the slick contrivance
some people aways step
in the same river twice


there are infinite types of darkness
and infinite types of light
like the lasting of loud
shoes in a museum
or an “i like myself” kind of pocket
one does not have a literal translation
for the detritus garments of
muted hearts spectralnestled
in the somewhen