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As it is almost noon

I will speak

An axe for the frozen sea

Abha is a good city

I am hard

Waiting for the soggy carpet

To catch fire, a bomb

In a backpack

My students eye me

Seeds in teeth

Love dripping & caked

In the margins

Meanwhile my mother is changing

Her headache medicine


The cities of Europe will be washed away

I will choose at what rate

As the sun goes

Down on our pink, static

Faces we relay

New apocalypticisms

What if I am bruising

In stolen oil

My sands trumpeting

My dad & sister are moving

Through China in a taxi

Find me I scream and tap

The glass, the amber hotel

Constricts and a man taller

Than god takes my hand.


I wish the great

Painters would all say

One thing

The physicists, too,

Everyone else is merged

With reality and therefore unable

To really be

The woman who pours

Hot coffee into a plastic

Vat to make it cold

Ah so beautiful

I can’t explain it


I bring my check to the bank.

I don't believe

We are happy.

Ahba is a pleasant city.

I walked in shorts,

No backpack,

Past the 4th of July fences

Brown grass smeared

With mustard & dog shit

Not love but love’s

Frequency, a note

I could hit not hold

I am in a wheelchair trying to get to my grandmother

I can’t walk either

It’s terrible

She can’t walk

Posted 08/16/13
Books by Emily Kendal Frey
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