Lavender Pit

Lavender Pit

Large stars &  tarmac

Horizon & now a pit ( strata notation

a possible music

against this we unravel

***

Our thresholds we assemble from chalcopyrite, covelline, and love

or a veed sun

striped strikes

and imagination

running among water

***

Black as the origination  the germination a fruit before fruitful

every origin story music

copper comes to earth as lighting

copper comes from the fifth red heaven

or they say: copper answers to the east

No water

***

moments known as ancients 

paper & everything went on

in boundary  and waters

Darkness own

***

Are we the self-machines or are we the present?

roads harmonizing

malachite

sky

                                                                                                                        Bisbee, AZ July 2019

First Aid (autumn 30)

First Aid (autumn 30)


In pain there is easily a thousand words
all manners and injury 

agency shaking 
around a ring a rosy
dove pintails on the tile and 

her heart sung under my hands 
altering the the existing wood 

surrounding the
debris our scars face each other
the ribs of  the new 

 


***

But how now can we talk of late winter? 

TFW: I fell in in love with the rain 

and it pinned me to the bed

 




***



Every wound ever suffered remains within my eye
the focus 

how does it feel to be injured when
decay abounds even in the  seemingly defect-free

her feathers splayed  out on the bathroom floor
Disc cuts close
hands  survive 

Wound response a reaction 
process of scar 
seal and close

self of the world speeds speeds upward in front of  



***

Can we overcome the past?

is it resistance then growing

Facing scars hands moving words in variability

History simple and grown over

and it’s not a perfect system and how can I save the first

of the new tribe perched on the kitchen cabinet

 ***

Spinning off the page

I breathe into sentences to make

the fracture in the story

Here’s an iteration between the now and then now

Here’s  fist shaped pain located in the shoulder

a small sharp sun  where the wing joins

 ***

The original choices were gold and salt

Autumn crocus or hands plunged into a beehive

How we all believed in

pyramids and jaundice

thundergods painted copper

how we believed the doves flying out

 chimeras dappled in sulfur and adrenalin

the cures in the us mail

  

 ***

Mostly I want less thought and sorrow  and more impeccable azure I want

Boundaries as

a practice or

the distraction in paths

beds and bridges 

wetblown and doubled

To root here in exile under

the hard blue sky

my ragged and desperate flutter

Chapbook is here!

Magnificent Field has published my chapbook!

Go here to order

As if in tending

As if in tending

As he was once he was a monster

As the O-ring encircles his throat
I play him Billie Holiday on the radio

As a father he was
a storm door slamming

As an intubated being
he has no glasses no watches no anger
as the monsteronce voids out

As the horizon moves beyond intensive
they celebrate a birthday at the nurses’ desk

As the I in witness I intended tending

as the palliative places glasses in
cases watches in plastic

Differing embodiment (summer 30)

Still keep still
under the moment

under a silver egg the
oracle became

the dawn ingot river motion o

Still no haven in
the habits we are
stars abandoned
and found

Still keep still
in the first rain
strife every minute
in the hollow

her faces are
sounds collected
then abandoned still

from "a monsters topic sentence" in progress

I am afraid of

bleach blue field tests

sky flowing out of sky

and monsters cackle

at the person I wish I was

hard and longer still

before I believe in

the mesquite cradle

and the life beneath

circles in circles

pain shadow mixed

my door is open

April 5 (easter)

Pick a word that could also be your name.

your name could also be

a specter slithering 

a candy red puncture wound

         sidewinds, faltering

The embittered  milky afternoon

the word meaning a hollow ailanthus   moving  from green to yellow

the word meaning ailanthus past  

and in the present 

oranges rot  and friendships  ruin

this afternoon a double double  non-essential

every changing line lined with sun

life rises and set

burnished knowing forward head 

first down in ruins and numb. 

April 4th

work     as a thing    startles

as a completed now    

is this whispering

what is more  curative

or closer to death       

is desire

what is graceless

little known haphazard

as a thing    

the random would be

kinder and more beautiful

what is more

the habit

is not a place of chance

what stands before chaos       

startled compulsion 

APRIL 3rd: good friday (27 minute)

as we forgive those

with unspeakable wreathes

this chalice bloom hounded and drawn

as mercy’s theft

strips us of grace and unrequited love

cover us with my thorny portion

as pursued trespass against

but physical pain
hounded and redrew

in mystery as I cross with joy

pril 2nd: keybord (15 minutes)

to stumble through
& no
double u or exits
up the turnpike

on the left mirror
for this
cloudless visit
eyes &;
blooming closer or limitless

seen self seen other
in the pupil
in the future

April 1st, 2015 (21 minutes)

is this day

smaller than sky

but larger than  errors

is the moment

a solution for the

grey and early birds

is your head is a

liminal hem on the self

when set it between us

do we call it a hem flesh

and I also wondered if

I were singing for my supper

transom interlude

to desire a

made room

a dreaming embodiment

and here I ring

in card carrying compassion

missing

bayesian interlude

undefined

away from rivers

straight into drift

how to keep loving

when the

probable

requires

everything made of not everything

added to everything made of nothing

requires a

circumference

or

vessel  

blogging bach January 5th 17 minutes

if momentum allows

I’d stand

towards

home

but circumstance

waltzed through

the ashes

non bachian interlude

memory:   trauma a shred system
lost catechism

                pearls
                 chromatic careen

Blogging Bach II: Bach Knot I (33 minutes)

Blogging Bach II: Bach Knot I (33 minutes)

harmonics

in the lost platform of the sky

alley dove as bow line

f(x) where x equals island or imago

trailing arrows

possible and/or impossible

a winter other

here in the coveted where 

I am velocity

ciphers and sound

blogging bach II (2014; 26 minutes)

the perpetual optimism of

o bring me back the river

expression is

a challenge to

the great decline to

the diminished & terrified momentum

and the self part becomes music

sky coax once where wash once

the spread notes

a city plucked

of the internal

perpetual optimism of

the object itself  an observation of the making of the object

coaxing  where once  erasing          an absence  how

I'm reading for The Switch, 5/24 5pm.

Maryrose Larkin & Anne Shaw, 5/24, 6 p.m., Hazel Room

The Switch presents poets Maryrose Larkin and Anne Shaw.
 
When: Saturday, May 24, 6 p.m. FREE
Where: The Hazel Room, 3279 SE Hawthorne Blvd, Portland

Maryrose Larkin lives in Portland, where she works as a freelance researcher. She is the author of Inverse (nine muses books, 2006), Whimsy Daybook 2007 (FLASH+CARD, 2006), The Book of Ocean (i.e. press, 2007), DARC (FLASH+CARD, 2009) and The name of this intersection is frost (Shearsman Books, 2010) Marrowing (Airfoil, 2010) and The Identification of Ghosts (Chax, 2013). Maryrose was a founder of Spare Room, a Portland-based writing collective, and is co-editor, with Sarah Mangold, of FLASH+CARD, a chapbook and ephemera poetry press. Maryrose received her MFA from Bard College's Milton Avery Graduate School of Art. She keeps her friends close and her muses closer. 

Anne Shaw is the author of Dido in Winter (Persea 2014) and Undertow, winner of the Lexi Rudnitsky Poetry Prize (Persea 2007). Her poems and reviews have appeared in Harvard Review, Denver Quarterly, Crab Orchard Review, The Los Angeles Review, Barrow Street, and New American Writing. She has also been featured on Poetry Daily, Verse Daily, and From the Fishouse. A graduate of Yale and George Mason University, Shaw is currently a student of sculpture at the School of the Art Institute in Chicago. She and her pit bull enjoy scaring small children and eating chicken bones from under picnic tables.



by Maryrose Larkin 
from cure fraction

the stranger

in the margins
soft & rooted

her ideas
wandering

as is her habit

her house 
has eaten me
& kept me in awe

by Anne Shaw

New Architecture

& therefore the windows in which you must move

through hallways or rooms, their jittery

comeuppance, their glossy tabletops. What is a standard

occupation. No, really, define this. Is it self-

reliance? Conduit or spoon? That scrubbrush

ain’t done with its teething, its ache for, its hot

mess. I too have spent whole ages under the kitchen sink

erect with your comings and goings, my bristles tuned

to the latchkey & playing your favorite song. But this is how the body fails

its rest. In my eyes there are tiny funnels. In my ear

there’s a small, gross space. Meantime the grasses. Lakelight.

Creatures in the dirt-mounds. Small things. Burrowing, shining.