Sunday, August 23, 2009

Lauren Levin


Remember the name of grandeur’s fortune,
Keenan. Your fortune one day.
Keenan, the name of grandeur’s fortune one day.
One day it feels like we do mock it.
It feels like you want to rub your thigh
    not even to mock it,
  not even to mock your sight.
      Option 8 is a bullet, F8, F9
A predator is one extreme end of a group of positions,
    he does not like having blind spots
    in his imagination,
  or horse eyes, or gem-like parents.
He had to hear 9 people’s counsel, from which
they had their birth. Persons of this type say,
and that type say, their candor.
The penalty for injustice is according to disposition,
I keep cutting this posture back
into a sinking knuckle, deep breathing,
bitch’s response, I don’t mind.
When you talk about belief
in the feeling of production, land a beat at the gate,
a whole excessive fear of failing my meaning,
there must be a knee hand ball joint
to respect. She was pleased, I believe,
with how death arrived
the telling of production, skating off
into a production place. Don’t worry,
your name won’t represent your actions:
in fact, I’m writing people’s names less
the more I know them. That’s to Keenan:
because I am distracted.

Lauren Levin is from New Orleans and lives in Oakland. She edits Mrs. Maybe with Jared Stanley and Catherine Meng. Her chapbook Flaming Telepaths just came out from H_NGM_N B_ _KS; another chapbook, Not Time, is forthcoming from Boxwood Editions. Some recent poems can be found in Try, Mirage #4/Period(ical), and Rabbit Light Movies.