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the smoothness of non-thought

I want to convince you
it’s also intelligence

to be washed in association
to be flattened by sudden

wordlessness to feel the wind
from gaping absence rush in

sleepy or numb or adorned
with squash blossom necklaces

acrylic nails rimmed in frost
upturned face like a daffodil

poems are faux thought
better than the real thing

Perfect Porn Poem

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Sad eyes

Concerned eyes

Watching men be
on film

Something unsaid
showing in the eyes

At least three feelings
washing across the face

Saying um or hi or hey
but with much emotion

Small smile that flashes
across the face

Expectant face right after
vanished smile

Sad face, realizing small smile
wasn’t understood

Shirt that is tight
in the chest or shoulders or arms

Face that registers the way
the shirt pulls

The General

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It’s true that I was a general
and that I’m a general now.

I’ve never said it out loud,

what it’s like watching
a command

hang in the air.

The stop-motion effect,
the moment before someone

is irrevocably changed.

Sometimes I enter
what I think is inevitable,

a flow,

but it’s a trap.
Someone dies,

something does.

Whole flocks
of precious people,

swaths of precious earth.

And yet, sometimes
being a general

is the opposite of destruction.

The reason I do this
life after life,

what doubles
my blood,

what I step right into

(eyes gleaming,
spiritual tendrils lit up)

is giving orders-

giving orders,
say, to you.

Giving you orders

to do something
you really want to do.

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