CARRIE HUNTER Engages
Merry Hell by Sara Larsen
(Compline, Oakland, CA, 2012 )
[written as a riff off of Sara Larsen’s language, line by line]
The beginning is at the beginning.
I say what I say is so, is so through the fact of.
A word root’s list.
I can sell you the outcome.
The idea of idea.
Their fear is sold commodity, enters the left
through the fissure under lock & key.
I will sell you the fissure.
What happened at the bar?
In Pennsylvania we say.
The sentence is the desired.
In our decay our dank, our urn,
“lacrymal & stopped.”
The sea eats the land.
Revolt from the revolt.
What is underground is making,
and the women say,
can’t hear what we say.
So we switch lives.
The denouement is in my pocket.
I turn, absence is volition, ammunition.
Monday is always sad because it’s the last.
The guru says, death says.
My hand in your pocket.
The willed reanimation.
After the rain, we will forget the siege.
I am who I am who I am.
Purgatory is a place like Boulder is a place.
I don’t mind leaving you.
I am what I will become.
This is not difficult to understand.
I am afraid to say it but here in this space,
I am Helen. I am not afraid to say it.
Polis is singular. Polis is
me and you together singularly.
Countable and uncountable.
Look at what they’ve legalized.
Vivien Leigh. 8 Pages. Alive cutting.
It will be like we weren’t ever there.
I’m headed North-South.
Afraid of what I’m getting into,
what I’ve gotten out of.
The act of implying. What happens
in silence, how what I suspect is so hard to speak.
The implication is cancelled by what
is added after. Complicated Paris.
In front of the trap house.
He flipped the switch and I’m in all
his dreams now. Feet like the earth.
Books as defense. Our history a list of people.
“It is necessary to go back to Mary.” To the sky.
Hell is both a place and a person.
III. Lit In Bias
Last day to try. After etymology. After history.
Intuitive signal. See vibrate. La petite mort.
To wag the tail. Melodiously in the underworld.
In the collage I am alone.
Burnt but loving the burning. The time
insists on itself. Continuously, we
are on a field and keep finding
pieces of ourselves.
My porn recommendations.Having
reached the top. The wild frolic.
A daydream, a musical composition.
How we forget ourselves in the emotional
moment. Like playing frozen statues.
Originally meaning luck. Forget boundaries.
To watch ourselves extravagantly in textiles.
Nothing but flesh. With their sticks and
their rods barring the way. All revolutions
will be fabulous. Sex as a weapon against
the oppressor but never each other.
Originally nautical. Big Bertha, Brown Bess,
Mons Meg. Not securely fixed. The stars in
our hearts, we don’t see the way, we feel it.
Everyone, the Other. Free. Free Space.
Around. About. Beyond. Through.
Hell sirens damned barricaded behind.
A city shaped like Hell, with circles.
Address to you reader, reverb, rather.
We can’t see the tree for the weather.
And it’s everywhere. You can’t hear what I can’t say
so I wait until I can and then you can.
An emergency we can’t decipher. How about “come
help me.” You can’t ignore a regime. Unless you can
Hours and hours of what is this rope hanging above us.
Someone else’s instant immediacy.
Eros’s Thanatos’s Kronos. Or fledgling. Everyone’s
everything haunting the beating ground. I’ve lost
everything through proper procedures following
what is supposed to happen.
Because I’ve eaten everything and I forgot to eat anything.
Puddle dogs, hell hounds, either one. Happy or rabid. Not a bird,
a woman, not a woman, a bird. Found the place where I can be be-
cause of hiding. Obscure List of Names Here.
A brokenness, a
destruction is a delicacy
because we’re doing it.
The outside smells like the in-
side of the outside of the inside of.
Our singularity a community.
Every unwanted loveletter hiding under carpets
welcome mats pomegranates.
But I know I have not really faced death.
The ubiquitous they are they are them. Boys
will be girls if you let them. Sorry for the acquiescence.
Egypt is [where is Robert Duncan’s] mother,
night, imagination, dream.
[the nile retracts]
When are you coming into arrangement?
is a pit. a mistake. apology. The word everyone knows in Spanish.
Deterrent. Great pay back. Empowered by the State to destroy
you, or it, or him. You are your own mythology.
Pentagon to remove ban on women in combat.
I could use some advice. Nether reasons change
every single day. Gladfeel. Noise music.
#hashtag. She is out of their minds. Replenish. (Serious) answers only.
For removing rusted nut/bolts. Vintage
Companion. Cavers in Mexico. This is not
to impress you. Blooms wine-red.
This is is the archive. The end of the year.
Artic ice. There are no comparisons
to be made. He is also mentioned.
“But if she does, she must remain unmarried.” An an ill-fated effort.
Who is at risk. Court document
required. All day long I stood.
Where has the bearded man been? Plush velvet sometimes. He seemed unreliable. Twitches. Let them eat
brioche. The venom was there in her
voice again. There could be a giant
reptilian bird in charge of everything.
Carrie Hunter received her MFA/MA in the Poetics program at New College of California, and edits the chapbook press, ypolita press. She has published chapbooks with Cy Gist Press, Dusie, Arrow as Aarow, and Lew Gallery Editions. Her full-length collection, The Incompossible, was published in 2011 by Black Radish Books. Other work has recently appeared in NAP, Metazen, Delerious Hem, and Amerarcana. She lives in San Francisco and is currently working on an MA in TESOL.