words with women

when we lay our
provisional

in reference to obscure
historical

when we possible
to render

women like us

displaced
in bodies

bleed behind
counters

precarious
to barricade

cheaper than
a machine

scrutinized
our engage

immiserate a
words for

our specific
enclosure

bleed behind
forced smiles

for low pay or
no pay

in the hands of
women like us

collectively agree
or refuse

to behave as
women like

burdened with
our lacking

subjects of
securities

we live for
our die for

our love for
cheap labour

serve for
our displaced

constantly
surveilled by

hegemonic
to live by

women like

bleeding
in kitchens

in bedrooms

in poverty
etc.

at times, struggling and complicated

structurally positioned
was in a blurry
when who but

girls like us

ache lost
timelines
and the people

twisted in a
map
kind of pain

curved in
finite rituals
until always displaced

girls like
regions negate

trembling
a fury

incalescent skin layered
walking in
mountains

post-harem heavy
breathing
asleep in the bodies of

girls like me

persistent
in wanting
vigilante tendencies

and you know i
killed that feeling
of wanting

intimacy
in a desert
when my skin

smelled like the
dust of the desert
drought wind blasted

hills crumble
under the weight
dragged absent workers

ragged dust
covered
plastic sandals

this small space
always poor
and movement

drove over
stacks of wheat
and i don’t

tangerines scent
clay hills
the body that

weapons civilian
point factory
town hum

a nausea
of the beating
hum

spills numb borders
a lonely

fragment the dull
determinate
when we sleep luxuriant

body ditch
the factory

mud that makes
history
left to fear

here in the desert
already

they’ve killed

all the

lions

Constantly moving and unable to move

You want to live in a world-class city
where the economy requires you to be

hungry. Familial,
but not familiar.

You lose track of the time.
You lose yourself.

You want to leave the city.
You want to live in a classless society.

You want to send a postcard
that reads:

another world is possible.

Concrete Shifts

concrete shifts to plain the view
corridor

proving these surroundings are
speakable

and can legitimately
be spoken

i tell you
my body goes through phases

sometimes full of it
sometimes empty

that the terrain can also speak
when our movement

from one place to another
bodies heavy like rocks

displaced and entwined in
a ground that holds

i tell you
sometimes i forget how to feel

sometimes i forget
what skin touches

how lips work
this landscape is maddening

an unending speculation

that makes this ground

finally

pitiful

you tell me i have feelings all the time
otherwise i’d be a sociopath

i tell you
i’m a sociopath

we trace the city with our wheels
sometimes feet
and point out the materiality of history

how wealth accumulates
and spills into neighbourhoods
thick and viscous-like
sticky, in an unpleasant way

we point to
what value is inscribed

how the ownership of property
perpetuates the ownership of property

how all our relations are mediated
through the ownership of property

i tell you
i’m tired

of anger being
my primary affect

you respond
my whole life

i tell you
desire is a possibility
a rupture

the new condos all look the same
sterile white walls
unused bicycle racks
windows that go on for days
that somehow make us wretch

you tell me i have a versatile heart

i tell you
it’s because i’m an addict

i ask you
is love even possible under capitalism?

you say
if desire is a possibility

in this city subjectivity
is an opening
for geographic processes

and the vessels in which
we make concealment happen

i tell you
i’m the destroyer of couple-forms

when love shifts
possibility fades
moments stagnate

i tell you
when to stop

you ask
where will i go to mourn?