Homage to Marina Abramović
here stand my twelve pillows, tall tuft
of turtle dove and pig’s feet and night
pain. here stand my silent vowels, jack
knifing knots between nutgrass & wet
ghost. here stand my balkans
running in the rain. bloodless. bloody.
nervy. here stand my bushtits: jubilant as
porbeagle & sweetquail & nuclear fruits
lunging teeth of gloriosa at your doorstep
drawing screams as if auctioneer of hours
wokked in rectangles of hellwood—woke
women who know exactly how to horrify
the gods & what not—a clay tablet the size
of a cell phone?—stop the rain. punish you.