O l i P e t e r s —

Looking at Piccinini’s We Travel Together 

(1)

creature beholds creature in unluxe verse. The axed syllable

resurrects in skin

crease between rib & hip. Pornographic syllable. I’m thrusting on

form I’m riding a gargantuan utterance I’m pigging out

on vulgar gerunds.

A foul hand molds

to chest & now it’s a study of

hair. Halation. Blonde wisps glazed in light. Syllable in

lock I want to twirl.

(2) 

knees deliver a eulogy kissing 

the ground in schematic anguish. English 

’s brute pageant palms the dead. Word 

needles under lush tissue English is an intravenous feeding tube 

through which love is gorged & regurged. 

Watch it slip in & out:--- 

masterly & prismatic biled & tinged. 

(3) 

it’s a classic question: what if your butthole was 

your face. Are you a monster 

for asking. Are you a monster 

for having a butthole. 

(4) 

crotch hooks shadow hooks glare---- you’re sleeping nude I’m sorry for

write. Finger 

s wilt over mine it’s crass I’m sexed 

on memory’s bunk. Deformed 

long tendon idiot toe gross assemblage I ogle I’m sorry 

I’m divulging you 

so commonly. Lookie here would it kill me to 

Looking at Ostrander’s A Promised Landfill

Finger’s compulsion to be slick with beauty: compassless gold plunge—don’t

say edenic say oracular blue sky orgiastic trash bags peopling

heaven’s gullet necklaced in attention which you drunk vulgarly garbage proof you

weren’t once extinct bees mouth the nectarclogged flesh mane it’s a labial blush

that insects rant around organic handcuff birthed of gland chew sugar pore abdomen wax—face

embarrasses:—in mute phobic droop you say it’s pretty ugly

.