leporsdaydream.blogspot.com
Lepor's Daydream
http://leporsdaydream.blogspot.com/2009/04/gargantua-depression-discovered-me-as-i.html
Tuesday, April 21, 2009. Depression discovered me as I walked, as I walked. To the bus. A giant with legs as short as mine. Crawled between my knees and asked for the time. You silly little thing I shouted, how is it. That you are so small, yet tower over me? Am I so frightened? You are a fantasy. You belong. To the French and treasure born from imaginary sand. This question confused the giant with legs. As short as mine. You’ve created me, silly thing,. Then made himself just as tall as me and unbuttoned.
theselfisaviciouscycle.blogspot.com
the self is a vicious cycle hijacked by the only poet who matters
http://theselfisaviciouscycle.blogspot.com/2009/08/after-not-writing-poems-for-three.html
The self is a vicious cycle hijacked by the only poet who matters. Sunday, August 30, 2009. After Not Writing Poems For Three Months, Le Jennifer Remembers She Once Made a Palace From Blankets. Le Jennifer once walked into a palace. Made of blankets – she was a child –. And there was a stone on the floor. She was a child, and there was a stone on the floor. She prayed to a stone. She made a stone in memoriam. She crawled into a ball and scratched. Her pink mosquito-nibbled skin. Prince Tandem, whose name.
theselfisaviciouscycle.blogspot.com
the self is a vicious cycle hijacked by the only poet who matters
http://theselfisaviciouscycle.blogspot.com/2009/04/consumer-pleases-herself-stale-bagel.html
The self is a vicious cycle hijacked by the only poet who matters. Thursday, April 2, 2009. The Consumer Pleases Herself. A stale bagel with soy butter. This was my breakfast. Funny, how sickening, the words. The food is so bland. I can actually think about 40%. Sales when I chew. Egg salad and juniper jelly. This was my lunch. Funny, how like electric fruit. The words tickle my nerve ends. I bought a poster of a shirtless man. Scrubbing a Clydesdale with yellow. Sponge and the precious moon. Drunk on Se...
theselfisaviciouscycle.blogspot.com
the self is a vicious cycle hijacked by the only poet who matters
http://theselfisaviciouscycle.blogspot.com/2009/04/policy-taxes-please.html
The self is a vicious cycle hijacked by the only poet who matters. Thursday, April 2, 2009. Taxes, please. Taxes. And more taxes. I don’t deserve. To have. I only only deserve this. Cockananny teaspoon. Sweet French. Singer. Doomed Samaritan. Clouds. Clouds. Everywhere are clouds. I won’t feel connected to the world. Unless there are taxes. Taxes. Clouds and taxes. Posted by david pollock/Le Jennifer. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). View my complete profile. Exit Elliot Le Ginn. Wage Labor You don...
theselfisaviciouscycle.blogspot.com
the self is a vicious cycle hijacked by the only poet who matters
http://theselfisaviciouscycle.blogspot.com/2009/04/drunk-on-sense-when-i-was-girl-my.html
The self is a vicious cycle hijacked by the only poet who matters. Thursday, April 2, 2009. When I was girl my mother screamed. Because the floors moved all by themselves. My brother played music on my teeth. The dead moved like thin disinfectant. In my momma’s big belly. The cool nights. Of girlhood are vaporous and repugnant. Like any drug feeling that lasts too long. And becomes another arena for the brain. To titter-tat and dance the spat. Posted by david pollock/Le Jennifer. View my complete profile.
theselfisaviciouscycle.blogspot.com
the self is a vicious cycle hijacked by the only poet who matters
http://theselfisaviciouscycle.blogspot.com/2009/04/blue-shadows-my-face-has-turned-blue.html
The self is a vicious cycle hijacked by the only poet who matters. Friday, April 24, 2009. My face has turned blue. I must be under. Stress. The clock is singing slowly, without. Any pleasure at all. My rings are laid out. On some red velvet. I should wash my hands. The evening is a dumpster of niceties. This is the best evening ever. My date is. The coat rack. We dance to blues music. You. Could have seen our silhouettes as you passed. Our house, Oliver. Oliver, don’t you pass our house. Le Jennifer is ...
theselfisaviciouscycle.blogspot.com
the self is a vicious cycle hijacked by the only poet who matters: The Le Jennifer Interview
http://theselfisaviciouscycle.blogspot.com/2009/05/following-interview-was-conducted-via.html
The self is a vicious cycle hijacked by the only poet who matters. Friday, May 1, 2009. The Le Jennifer Interview. The following interview was conducted via telephone. So, I’ve allowed you to take over my blog. Do you have any thoughts on the matter? I do Yes. But it’s your blog I’ve taken over. Maybe what’s more interesting are your thoughts. You have a blog of your own. I had a blog of my own. Now I have yours. Right What was wrong with your blog? You don’t know? Presentation. Is that right? I don̵...
theselfisaviciouscycle.blogspot.com
the self is a vicious cycle hijacked by the only poet who matters
http://theselfisaviciouscycle.blogspot.com/2009/04/important-lesson-i-taught-my-brother.html
The self is a vicious cycle hijacked by the only poet who matters. Tuesday, April 21, 2009. An Important Lesson I Taught My Brother. There is a quiet earth in my bed sheets. Yet I am awake in pain. My morning. Is my afternoon. My blood has dried. On the nightgown in the shape of an apple. My brother asked me. We were young, swimming. I almost drowned once and felt I was breathing in. Terrific blue poison. Woman is an absence. No. The place of origin. Why do you ask me? Le Jennifer mean by quiet earth?
theselfisaviciouscycle.blogspot.com
the self is a vicious cycle hijacked by the only poet who matters
http://theselfisaviciouscycle.blogspot.com/2009/04/frustrated-le-jennifer-imagines-fantasy.html
The self is a vicious cycle hijacked by the only poet who matters. Saturday, April 4, 2009. Frustrated, Le Jennifer Imagines a Fantasy Land. Of all the places I don’t remember. Demonhorse is the cloudiest. Yellow lungs that dangle. From crisp March branches. Excellent horses with whisps of yellow mane. Yellow frogs on the knuckles. Of a slippery river stone. The horseshit keeps coming. Places have no images, not. In the least. A memory is a folded princess. Gown in the yellow oakwood chest. The Consumer ...
leporsdaydream.blogspot.com
Lepor's Daydream
http://leporsdaydream.blogspot.com/2009/05/cosmetic-dream-having-woken-i-found.html
Sunday, May 3, 2009. Having woken, I found that I was not wearing makeup. Had the dream not been mine, I might have been. More eager to read it for its symbols. Had the dream not been. Mine, I might have found the dream poetic. I might have explored. The possibilities of meaning: I had a dream in which I woke up. From a dream to find I had painted my face in my sleep. Lepor! The dreamers’ dictionaries told me I was hiding a more true identity;. That my fingernail does indeed inhabit the sacred space?
