Lydia Cortés, Trace Howard DePass, & Sara Larsen
Monday, September 23, 2019
i wasa libertine in
UnManageAble crux of femme
I DARED MYSELF TO MARK SOMETHING ON PAPRYI
hunk of flesh salt meat words
rush like a Maenad over
grave-isles garbage-vales thick-crocus mountains &
for Space is not easily discerned by Mortals.
hey Sapph, take up yr lyre
play something we DON’T know the words to
the big violet bruise.
sing abalone-crowned Cytherea
whose voice hustles
us scarred shocked abject subversive UnderSung
we fight this society of death