Today's poem is by Laura Neuman

[I will misunderstand for a long time]

I will misunderstand for a long time
"the costumes make me really mad"
"pissed off about not doing the practice"
a pushing, a pushing away from
your very nauseous intercostals
hook and sink her.
in the wake of failure's queerest passion
nonchalance is a sinking ship
and you want words that are social for our movement
(the pleasure of love):

well, this text is a body too
don't say, your work makes me sick
say, your work gives me a physical sensation
I associate with nausea.

the way we can put
a magician inside the dance and a
book in a book
compliment a sweater then
slide hood over face...
how does writing become a poem but
disaster and a failed sea map.
and if failure is when a process ends
and we are left wanting more?

I want to give up this
poor definition of feminism as
approximate nausea.

Copyright © 2018 Laura Neuman All rights reserved
from risk :: nonchalance
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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