On fire, desire, fossil fuels

Kaia Sand and I read last night–pieces on fire, desire, fossil fuels–at Passages Bookshop, thanks to the generous David Abel. Kaia sewed and burned skirts for us. She burned the word “desire” into my skirt.


Kaia illuminates the moth so it shadows the wall behind–with fossil fuels we are like moths to flame.


I have my plastic car part, a major character in Plastic: an autobiography.


About loss, and Prince

I made this poem about loss, and Prince.


On Loss



world span

rain. I mean

how the breath

can quit. It comes

and goes you don’t

believe it

stops. That mark

stays on

your face.

That face

that died

in your chest.

The limb—did

she think

of how

it looked? The toes

she once

could always

stare at. Pick.

She felt

its ghost

foot walking

Earth—which is

a missing

thought. The single

cell consuming

light becomes from

want—that force—

a Prince. His

mouth and eyes

his chest, the sound

he tears up

from in

side him—shriek

that tugs

my guts

from the soil

of fuck

and fight. Dance

that filled

my hips—the bone

bowl brimming

up. I felt

I—no. I never

felt your


mouth. I did.

It lit

me to

my core. I burned—

a wick

of want. I snuffed

it out

myself. That dark.

That’s loss.