Ofelia Hunt |
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Devour taxi-cabs in the suburbs | |
I've only been murdered fifty-four times |
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I think I have torn my quadriceps | |
I watch my quadriceps From a distance And my quadriceps watch me I should ride my bicycle I think But Kurt Vonnegut just died So I walk into the parking lot And rub the parking lot I say to my neighbor "Kurt Vonnegut is dead" I say "I just tore my quadriceps" My neighbor shuts his door I hug my neighbor's door And feel his door against my chest And there is a fern and I hug the fern I hug each object I see Because each object I see Is an object And I am an object And every object Must touch every other object |
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Then maybe explode myself | |
I tell the refrigerator to be calm And open the refrigerator I remove the milk and pour the milk On the floor I say to the floor "Be calm" And I slide through the milk The milk slides between my toes My toes absorb the milk And my bones absorb the milk The little holes in my bones slowly disappear I absorb so much milk That I am milk I think I might be bacteria But I'm not bacteria Or almost anything Because I divide many times And the refrigerator Divides also and we continue To divide many times Until I am the refrigerator Refrigerating things And explode myself |
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A message from your department-store-manager | |
I adore the fish-knife With bone handles And deliberately hide the fish-knife In my cold abdominal compartment Beneath my thorax Which is rigid and segmented and similar To your toy Lexus And your daughter's little black rib-cage Which I mounted with wall-anchors In our all-marble dream-bathroom Five-thousand years ago I'm telling the truth My breasts are twin caterpillars Genetically modified and carefully bred In computer-engineered sterile-pods So you fondle my sterile-pods Until they fuzzily self-destruct Which was expected and planned And why I'm cataloguing All possible event-sequences In my event-sequence diary Before we lose our research-grants To ethanol/pornographer/musicologists |
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Little cyborgs | |
From the airplane Everything is so terribly darkly beautiful That it hurts my dark dirty My dark dirty here And I have a brain I have a body I am a thing Among things In the jetliner over Portland Each little person is a little cyborg In a little car with a little plan And each little cyborg is a little molecule Inflating in my lungs And my lungs are tiny and tight for it So I hug each cyborg because each cyborg will die for a while And I am evil and murderous And Everything it says on television Is the truth probably So I angrily destroy many objects Because objects only scream tragically Like the thing you thought was a very good thing Until it broke And saddened you terribly forever |
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__________ Ofelia Hunt currently lives in Portland and Seattle. Poems available online at Apocryphal Text and Dusie. Fiction chapbook titled My eventual bloodless coup on Bear Parade. Read work in progress at Elephant seals negate the tactile universe. |