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Indigo Hawkins

Is Am Not I

(I withdraw so I can pretend)

the world is spinning
and of all of us in it
i am not spinning
the world is not spinning
i am
the world is
i am
the world
is not
i am
not
the world
is
am
i
[....]

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Skirmish

purging half-sleep half-death
half-born baby of rain—all drain— drown

wet motion mythologies—

aguish wounded grackle screams—
dove dreams, kiss of the crazy
man cooing

aligerous stasis:
when the basis of all cycles sleeps, ask
what keeps the current flowing, the merchant going, the ground growing
wrinkles—worn women—torn women—women who bleed
water, the river their only record: a deep lurching flood
of names and unfound flesh.

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From A Dream (Irksome Pantoum 1)

With a whiff of plums, I wake
covered by George Washington's fatigues;
submerged in cherry blossoms,
unwanted sex.


Covered by George Washington's fatigues,
I lie on the floor, processing
unwanted sex.
After the fog of two parties,

I lie on the floor, processing:
I do not know where I am.
After the fog of two parties,
I do not feel liberated.

I do not know where I am
or remember how I got here.
I do not feel liberated.
I am too exhausted to feel

[...] Read more

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140 Fragments

1-14
I could say anything, and you wouldn’t know.
There is no one else.
Stand me on a chair, and call me Hope.
Loving is easy when you breathe God.
So many lives: I want to live them all.
Everyday with you holds an exquisite unoriginality.
Think: rational milk without guile.
A macaw squawks in my throat.
I’ve pilfered someone else’s passion.
He’s singin’ in Swahili & strummin’ a guitar.
A jar of ice jade melted.
You’re not welcome here.
I wish I could feel sincere.
The world is flat and I am a garden.

15-28
Sir, addressing the floor in such a manner is inappropriate.
Sulk—now there’s a mood in which to sink.
Too often I dwell atop a brink of petulance.

[...] Read more

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