Author: K.
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brown out shouts!
this is for matea who dances the bomba with hands that crest moonhips and kisses harder than she loves herself. every trans, genderqueer, futchie, fairy, AG, anything with roots arches toward her, they can’t help it, their arms like petals soaking up her light. and this is for my student, hard ass krystal who doesn’t…
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workshops
undoing to become kay barrett will delve into topics of self-testimony in this interdisciplinary workshop of performance, writing, and story telling. Participants will share narratives they’ve been told of myth, truth, and transformation. how do we move collectively to reclaim and invent empowering stories? workshop participants are asked to dress in comfortable clothing, and to…
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since my body
i am no wooden doorframewatching you walk away again. i am dwelling on lumberedvoice, octaves trying to carve out afull night of sleep. can i write that poem?(propping up metaphors to disconnect the skin cells)can i write that poem?the quiet, hold still- the i amtrembling, stop it, no no- or do I count on the…
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Everything down at your feet (for Adil)
We do not count names on a wall for memorial Or pan our pupils to stacked missing persons reports Or cuss the cops dismissal of another body fallen in the ghetto. we do not pray the rosary walking from station to station, eating only the foods that remind us of the dead, accepting howled sounds…
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psalm for a womon at age 60
For she who sang to young ears old country time radio and malinak lay labi Bring forth the father who is now a cloud roaming.Bring forth the mother who was a severe beating and before she diedan apology you accepted.Bring every sister back in her likeness.Bring more than eleven at the table, passing steamed pots…
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song for the kicked out
the streets are not paved with gold, they lied I got a rough throat, i got a rough life the streets are not paved with gold, they lied I got too much queer in me to live their way tonight. she found me waist up in you she had found me mouthful, drinkin’ you mama…