Aimee Herman
the whole world is wrinkled like elephant skin
analysis collects teeth from back-packed body, 243
breaths give off tragedy, 17
buttons anger hipbone, 52
collect pills and marriages, 444
curry lungs, 24
decipher the diameter of stains on sidewalk, 23
denim decides sex quotient, 8
dirty pieces of nothingness, 24
eat significance, 912
engrave the opposite, 19
erotic bite down of neuroses, 30
exploit war, weather and elections, 302
feel the aroma of her tongue, 20
forehead dreams of travel, 27
freud keeps his eyes busy, 33
genetic disrobe, 39
grab hold of the ghost called body, 14
grow into thunders, 40
how sad to be inside a body, 13
it was before they got the meds right, 919
let the ruin go beyond your self, 21
love surpasses colposcopies and genital warts, 48
meant to wake up feeling, 179
metal fire burns the edges of memories, 22
misbehave wrists, 8
outside: rain, guilt and mothers, 302
pretend to understand, 47
resist memoir and baths, 545
swagger longing, 200
terrorized limbs cough, 45
the shape she makes when pressed, 40
thumb slung into bent, 40
translate theories like heaven & birth control, 523
treat body like leftover supper, 9
truth in salt, 441
unfold discontent, 197
wallpaper lips closed, 18
weep without eyes, 34
where tongues go at night, 64
become an inflection
where do tongues go at night. how to starve obesity. how to imitate chaos. are you a mailbox. how true is this body. can I write without humiliation. what about Shirley your mother the father character the one who might have impregnated you toward aborted adulthood. what is the difference. if I set myself on fire will you donate your skin. which is worse. is that your orgasm. do you drink enough water. do you have a passport drinking problem fetish for redheads. how nude is quiet or how quiet is nudity. can breasts be perverts. can gender be removed like the seeds in cucumbers or cantaloupes. is de kooning erotic or distracted. are you naked enough. when was the last time you gargled with semen. can you victimize your love for me. where is bahrain. where is the lump in your breast. how dark is your plasma. what was your longest relationship and when it ended how many pills did you prescribe to your medicine cabinet. how much do you owe in student loans and what rhymes with university. when was the last time you were tested. do you get dressed in the dark make love in the dark snort memories in the dark. can you measure your yawn. how bored is your brain on cocaine and claustrophobia. can I get a refund for this class. did jesus waste time with sit-ups and salutations. can you influence my shadow to glow in the dark. where are my people. if breasts were detachable would I leave them behind. can one refuse mornings like second helpings or receipts. how polite is war. where did that stain come from. why do you carry so many condoms in your pockets. would you prefer bleach to hand soap.
I still don’t know how to put one on
There is a boy on the 3 train, asleep with his hand inside a bag of chips. I need you to understand that when I tell you I am dying it is due to over-processed food memory traumas unprotected sex undiagnosed cancers and the genetic disrobe from my mother. How should I begin? Look toward the mouth of a dead shark and navigate through the scent of formaldehyde. To begin at the end, I might admit that lineage can be destitute. The cockroach flattens like a slice of paper and travels beneath briefcase of commuter. The second time I tried to kill myself I was a week past sixteen. Resilient balloon slid toward the ceiling as I carved a tombstone into my wrists and forearms. There are some men who collect the teeth of poets with poor dental practices. If I began somewhere in the middle, I might list off words like ramen soup, cocaine, strange men who wiped me away like war, a fall with nine stitches, an assault, a break-in of back-alley body, a move to western side of the country, a relapse, a love affair, a break-up, an unexpected disrobe of morals. My mother kept the yellow pills and knives in a lockbox. It is a yellow citrus fruit birthed in China, merging mandarin and lemon. I was hoping my breasts would punish me like no one else would. How can a lump create such confusion to one’s cells? Live inside high-pitched city and calculate the decibels of silence against the division of flashing lights. How about I begin stage left with flailing arms and my shadow, malnourished, leaning toward abandonment.
Aimee Herman is a queer performance poet. Her work has been featured in Sous Les Paves, Clean Sheets, Cake Train, Pregnant Moon Review, InStereo Press, SoundZine, Cliterature Journal, and/or journal and Lavender Review. She has been featured in the anthologies: Focus on the Fabulous: Colorado GLBT Writers (Johnson Books), Recipes for the Apocalypse: A Toast to a New Frontier (Baobob Tree Press), Best Lesbian Love Stories 2010 (Alyson Books), and You Say. Say. (Uphook Press). Aimee can be found writing poems on her body in Brooklyn. Her new book of poetry, to go without blinking, was recently released by BlazeVOX (books).
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