I don’t want to just hook up, but, you know, I’m not looking for anything serious.
It would begin with a mortician
pulling us out of our coffins
and end with a doctor shoving us
feet first into our mother’s vaginas
You are the god that rules over unicorns, fairies, my literary career, and luck after all. How can I not believe in you?
I have heard so much
about this “dream,”
why do you keep dreaming?
when will you wake up?
Please rain down upon me in all of your sparkling majesty and glory, your brief, momentary flashes of the visible light spectrum, your shiny shining like sugar for my eyes. I pray you make everything fabulous…
To meditate, start by stopping. Open yourself into the expanse of the universe. How it rolls on into nothingness and the nothingness rolls on into further expanses. Understand the vastness. Become the vastness.
We spoke in tongues. No one taught us sacrament so we invented our own. We ask thee in the name of thy son to bless and sanctify this spit. This sweat.
Dear God of Thrift Stores. Holy Handmedown Lord of the Secondhand. I come to you impoverished and ironic to sink my fingers into your junkbins and sift through your innards. I come to you to make wholes out of incompletes, newandimprove a brokedownbeatup, to stitch together echoes. I seek you on red tag days when…
I want to tuck myself into clouds. Float over the terrain, fall all over you in thunderbursts, soak your clothes, ruin your hair. I am devastated at the sight of your umbrella. You still jump into every puddle. I want to bake myself into your favorite pastry. Present it to you. Watch you eagerly pick…
I try to feed her my dreams.
Here is a melting blue guitar.
Here is an ocean in the shape of a house.
Here is a train made out of swingsets.
She devours them. Licks the plate clean.
But she wants more.
R.J. Wright: Dyslexia What works in this piece: Opens with some light humor that he knows the audience will appreciate (“Words are really hard. Just ask any three-year-old…or Donald Trump”) Incorporates elements of dyslexia into the poem/performance reflects content, adding depth the piece as a whole Creates a performance (temporal) out of a disorder…
The third part of the Salt City Slam Genesis Bout: God This piece was written and performed by me, Gray. It would be arrogant of me to do a deep mine of this piece, since it’s my own piece. I’ll just note a couple things: I started the piece with “Dear Children,” to echo how…