these texts are an archive of my life in the San Francisco Bay Area from march 2007 - march 2015. it stands as a record of close to a decade of my life, charting the struggles i faced as an artist, daughter, and lover. messy and chaotic at times, eloquent and poetic at others, these texts are an index i am proud of. it was here in this electric box that i learned how to be honest about my experiences and the person i needed to become. it was here that i first learned the truism that words make the world and how to trust such a beautiful, rife, hard fact.

thank you for meeting me here in such tall grass.


my artist website is here.

Mar 12, 2010

this poem will be deleted but i want to know if it needs work.

.



week 3





first wool
now glass

the pancreas exploded
and every dirty toxin, all filth
seeping through

and Jesus and Jesus
Saint Genevieve
mama, no.


first glass
now wool
and hair falling out in clumps in the cup
of your small hand.


i watch him shave your head in the kitchen.
i watch him sweep up your hair.

wool and glass
through both our eyes, mama

Saint Genevieve, the clear

poison steaming
toward the stable vein.

the arm exploded. the tumor has not changed.

5 comments:

Elisabeth said...

Why delete this, any of it? It's haunting and powerful and deeply disturbing. It deserves to stay. Both the poetry and the image. Please leave hem be, let them live a little longer on the page. We need to sit with these thins.

Elisabeth said...

Instead, I suggest you delete the promise to delete remark.

With a little edit, no one needs know the threat to delete was ever there.

angela simione said...

hahaha! thanks elisabeth! i WANT to keep it up but apparently online poetry mags consider a poem to be "published" if it's been posted on your blog and therefore won't consider it for publication with them. weird. not all but a lot. so.... that's why it'll disappear. i just wanted to see if anyone would tell me it needs some fixing first. :)

Radish King said...

only the crappy journals think blog published poems are pre-published. Poo on them. Leave it up until you find a home for it then you can take it down. You stated quite clearly you're still working on it so fuck em if they can't take a joke. My 2cents.
xo

Angela said...

:D

thank you, sweet woman! hahahahaha! what a relief! i was hoping that's the answer i'd get!