There will be a rapist running our country. & pens, here, bleed sideways I want to tell you the story of how it all began but I’m not sure where to start Should I list you in small containers, make your knowledge knowable: this and that and this you said this and that and this you said (and what does it amount to) how can it be you said abandoned you said folded you said mouth of tarmac I said prophecy he said I am chosen you said puff of hair you said smoke in breath you said linen suit & hearken straightforward you said I will defeat them I will ISIS you said those were just words you said those were just I am not I am he he is he you speak so gallantly about messes. jerking it out to mutiny, a tornado of grabbing. I want to tell you the story of how it all began but I’m not sure where to start do I start with my mother how she suffered trauma can that be separated from her mother and how she suffered trauma how far back do I trace a problem so thick it’s just cement filling keeping the swimming pool tiles together we’re all each one of us speaking different languages while using the same words everything dusky in light my stomach sick from the burrito that I love from the truck on the corner from eden to babylon everybody apple sweet sick feasting on too many syllables did you know I looked up the transcripts and the word you said most was go
Hannah Rubin is a writer, theorist, and artist who goes by a handful of names. Today they are this. Work has appeared in some publications, bicycle routes map themselves around the bends in Oakland, CA.