Catherine Wagner


My What to Replace My

There Was a Place in the Brain, a Red Knot



My What to Replace My Stand on the concrete sit on the grass. Whose. In the name of God and country give up your name. In God and country given up and given. The hoard of flowers opened in his side burrow in the maculate room a quiet gigantic fucking I was eating his side who made me I burrowed in to invent him further more and further in grammatically to please him in my pleasing dress Damn it Bled irregularly and late from the stem banish it and damned if it's not on the bed fasten inside the soft boated blood a tiny carcass veined all round and eyed absorption and the dissolute conception a little self and is not what I am What demon come to stick her eyes on you That was my portion God was all of it who took it me Abandoned me, flouting in the wood My hands are up my hands are good and branching sun yellows yellows yells in the gray twigs I'm not in there I saw it from out here I wrote it from later leaned on a wood thing greedy as a punch to make it go like mine desk, this book who are all of you willow burst in fur the prairie burnt burnt willow burst out in tiny animals she all flowers hussy practice all my hurray to my governing my or There Was a Place in the Brain, a Red Knot


My tiny babycrat
Loose in a pool and dying
My tiny cat
Is hanged up and a-dying
My little bracelet
Bangs on the page
My proud babycrat
Smut-faced in her rage
Go away little dogface
Go away little phage
I'm driving up to Providence
Investigate the gauge
My speed is like I pass 'em all
I don't pass anyone
Singing hard I give 'em hell
I sing 'em down the drain

Delver, light a match to flare the stink and tell me why you are so bad. Are you the scourge of God? The author has bad thoughts not me. Delver, what is sexual? Sexual is the secret and uncontained. Why am I happy? Everyone is nice to you. Delver, I have no more questions. What is wrong? You aren't sick, you are rotting ннннннннннннн You dug in a wrinkle and found hair The red knot dug out with a shovel rooted deep It wasn't the id it was what they wanted me to do. The mass grave morphs into uranium I have millions! нн Whistle through the caverns and steeples, the school and the bright columnar people people gone. I walk left and abort my future. Turn right and pow a new world. The past flew up my crotch and infested my brain. I birthed a big one. America: a prophecy. Delver: we still are.

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