(I wrote this last year as my first spoken word poem that I performed. I’m not very happy with it)
the circuit of the heart
the body is a circuit with the heart as a battery
in order to understand how blood pumps breathing left and returns breathless right
the body is a machine
i try to automize my life but there is little autonomy in the bloodline
the pump to move a name through generations
biological like the selfish genes that jump through kernels and make a mosaic out of corn
Continue reading “the circuit of the heart”
(I wrote this during the student protests in April)
Side A: bulldog days
It was time for the preview, the carnival, the sales pitch for those still blessed with the simplicity of choice. The entire bay was aglow with fairy lights, and soft choral music hummed in every corner. You were told to polish each grain of sand until it shone like a speck of gold, a potential pearl, until your hands wore raw ribbons of ruby red.
They dumped confetti onto the shoreline, covered the garbage with glitter and framed the stench on the dogwood trees. The Smilers came out of their shadowed nooks in the trees, teeth gleaming white, palms dry as chalk as they shook each and every hand. Their enamel made you remember, enabled that past so often repressed, when you were also small and scurried and told yourself this white powder in the air was sugar and not salt.
It did not take long for you to develop a resting bitch face standing next to them. You needed it, to prove to the others like you that you were not like them, the newcomers, so fresh-faced and eager and whose hands unknowingly stained the scenery, meticulously laid out, with pitch, just as your hands stained your work ruby red.
Continue reading “Yale Sucks”
print “hello world”
“Why’s it taking so long?”
“It’s one of those older K-models, you have to modify the program’s code manually and there’s a lot of bugs. Remote control’s still a backdoor solution with this guy.”
“Why don’t you just get a new one? They sell them by the dozen in most supermarkets.”
“I don’t know, I’m so used to doing it this way now. It kind of weirds me out that I can just type in the time and everything else just magically happens, you know? I like it this way; I know exactly what is happening and why.”
“It all looks Greek to me.”
“I’m using Arabic numerals.”
Continue reading “The Gendered Automaton”