from the waist–so that, turned the bulb that's oneself (thorax)
–only–then–doesn't have any existence–turned (wherever one
turns)
as conception–at waist of magnolia buds that exist in the day
really
sewing the black silk irises–not when one turned at waist
sewing them, they have no shape literally except being that–
from one's hand (being, in the air)
the irises only had existence in the black, before dawn, in fact
a man doesn't want me to become quiet again–go into ocean
not weighed of before fighting–ever
formation of that of narrowed to no form in one–of black volup-
tuous lip–outside–voluptuous lips that (aren't) on black dawn, or
before it when it's black.
There was no intention–being done–with their existing.
not weighed before fighting which is the black, weighed, air–
not the lips which have no weight–isn't following
if one's not contending...so the inner isn't contending either...?
Leslie Scalapino. "from the waist–so that, turned the bulb that's oneself (thorax)..." from New Time copyright © 1999 by Leslie Scalapino and reprinted by permission of Wesleyan University Press.
Source:
New Time (Wesleyan University Press, 1999)
An experimental writer associated with the West Coast Language poets, Leslie Scalapino attended Reed College and received an MA in English from the University of California at Berkeley. Scalapino’s writing often blurs the distinctions between poetry, prose, and even the visual arts—her book Crowd and not evening or light (1992) includes photographs with handwritten notes. Her collections include Considering how exaggerated music . . .
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Poems by Leslie Scalapino