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manifest press

eileen myles said that she was a fiction, she’s a novel titled “eileen myles,” her parents titled it. just exposing the fiction, peeling back that thin veil that seems to separate us. try and try and try to connect. i peel back my skin and your skin and we press our breathing flesh together lie still on the couch with chests still and minds still. peeling back the previous words and finding the poetry in them.

the new poetics is all the old poetics.

“the sentence is the vehicle of truth
as soon as one turns to the poem and it’s line feed, then it’s doing something else
than telling the truth.

then what is the authority of a poem as art?
it has the authority to be else.”
-amelia robertson

shape consistently your poem/life, truth is less important than we once thought it was. what is truth if everyone speaks their own personal language? which is just poetry.

just

the gap is part of it, infrathin, between your breathing flesh and mine touching on the couch. the gap allows for the exchange, for the breath, for the longing that prompts speech. if you were me we would not make art.

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