Newly completed serial entitled HOUNDS now in the process of being bound for consumption officially. Contact me if you'd like one. And serving as a kind of poet's statement, this:


Something happens in the being written of the writing of it--The body is altered.

The outfitting of the writing of it (what the poet wore to write/wear it): firstly for the first time, book suspenders. The rest being: big boots, an ugly ass face and a dirty skirt. In fact, in a public square with the skirt torn down, chucking fists.

The form and syntax of it: being the moving through the rooms of processes, of breath and speech, of sound and motion in the space(s) and time(s) of writing from the outside in. Thus the possibility--allowance--of perpetual regeneration. That is OPENING THE EDGES being the wide uncolsure serial form is. Room(s) within which to orchestrate nonintention. Plus to blow complete shit (out) of Nation-States.

HOUNDS being MIXED PROPAGANDA. Accompanying headaches and "general feelings of unwellness." DEFECTION of HOUNDS being a process and representation of the ILLOGIC of capital terror. A history of a history. Glyphs depicting hairless heads of slaves with arms and legs bound. (Being a single example

Thus HOUNDS forefronting historical BINDING--as ever is pervasive--as felt--realities. How and when and what does it feel like to be bound by force versus bound by choice. If there is that (distinction). Urine on a holy book knocked across the rooms of a love poetry thickening there.


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