Thank you all for coming, that is.
That works.
Thank you all for coming.
And I want to thank in particular, Lisa Bowden, who
just gave that wonderful introduction.
But she also designed this amazing chap book of mine
that was just put into the world two weeks ago.
And I want to thank Rae Strozzo, who
did the artwork for the cover.
So thank you both so much.
Thank you to Movement Salon, all of you
for being here with me in creating this piece.
"Territories of Folding."
"Decorate almost queer miscreant, bear some boy
and sing.
This cannot be another year about unknowing.
I was my mother's daughter.
And then a series of days came.
They were not unlike a rock garden on the dinner table.
I brushed the ground and made a life jacket of fence posts.
We committed suicide, and she called me her son.
Pushed in a closet and bleeding, if this is 1989,
your sister did that to your nose.
Sometimes I believe I am a hallway.
I take back the whole part about transition.
And this is what I keep trying to tell you about desperation.
If I could, I would suffer more in that liminal.
My wish, which is a faulty maintaining, the tender
of a slightly turned me and the least brave person that I know.
It's spelled S-H-E. But the S is silent.
Isn't that the way it is anyway?
No two plurals in the world.
And what of CPR in the first place?
Play dead, little sister.
Be a good girl.
I'll be the boy, and I'll save you.
This is air in your lungs.
And you are now breathing.
It is important to me that you remember the difference.
This is resuscitation, not blood, nor a kiss.
Decorate almost queer miscreant, bear some boy and sing.
To remove from the frame of reference, the referent,
to a singular and plural and yet.
The verb never agrees with it's heresy,
disbelieving in absentia redress.
The story of cleavage unwritten, erased perhaps, but still
missed.
Decorate almost queer miscreant, bear some boy
and sing and sing and sing and sing.
I do not bring the luxury of insistence
if a cattle guard is waning by himself.
Six poles and not one of them in training--
although I am ungentle and in between, dear Ramona,
call me domicile.
Tar string and say that never will you garnish me,
choke lovely, the open trickle of my mouth.
Decorate almost.
No, the body is deleterious enough.
Boy, oh boy, and sing.
Decorate almost queer miscreant.
Bear some boy and sing.
That there will be a future in which my twinkle toes calibrate
rescue, finger the witness lightning, now lightning
in the salty and discontinuous air,
as if that woman is still asleep in her jeans.
Boy oh boy and sing.
Because I left words out I did not
want to repeat in the winter, leaning as if on wind,
what water holds.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
You move forward as if through a jump rope
that handles molesting your hands, with the mouth covers
and then covering introduces.
You keep it tiny core and more of yesterday's wind.
It's spelled as S-H-E, but the S is silent.
Boy oh boy, and sing.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
We left the oven on much more in that kitchen.
Only the fact of what I was thinking there can separate me.
Your hair breaks in, lying lovingly.
Go little grass, burn back.
Go little me, just kiss.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
Tonight, let's practice [? erosion? ].
It's finally my turn, as the wind.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
Decorate almost, queer miscreant, like the light
switches I spend hours attending to.
This camera is digital.
The sound of my nevering is a pedigree,
accustomed with all of my back.
What we were promised was cornstarch, which I am all no
and other miracles-- elephants, elephants,
elephants, out of days, who I raised and then will accompany,
who will shadow signature resist.
What is behind me has been given sutures and rest and rest
and sing.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
Will someone please pass me-
Cornstarch.
Will someone please pass me the technicolor?
[MUSIC PLAYING]
Boy, boy, boy, the technicolor, a boy.
And sing and sing and sing and sing
and sing and sing.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
I am not, asking, for that nearness nor even
the possibility of reach.
Please, please this tempting terrible little enemy,
discreet in our tissue and bless.
I think I love you more with your derivative.
For the camera, you insisted I swallow
for the plain and crowded quiet little years.
I would only admit this to you, to water,
the body is still mostly land.
The hypothalamus remembers, the hypothalamus cares.
And still the technicolor, again,
decorate almost queer miscreant.
We lay there for months drawing back tiny muscle and grafting
and exegesis of skin.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
I believe too much of repetition.
She said, the thing I want you to remember
is the leave taking.
Do not break me, and I promise not to not let the scene down.
Do not stand there, toes stuck together and thrown.
I believe too much in technicolor.
Boy, oh boy, and sing.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
Sing and sing and sing and sign and sing and sing and sing.
Did somebody pass me?
Will you pass me?
[MUSIC PLAYING]
Did you see me?
[MUSIC PLAYING]
Do you see me passing?
This is me passing.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
So, there's passing around.
There's passing.
And there's passing.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
And there's passing.
[INAUDIBLE]
It's spelled S-H-E, but the S is silent.
Isn't that the way it is anyway?
No two plurals in the world.
You may sleep in the corner, please sweetly.
You may carry paper, carry autumn in your mouth.
Now that you are dead, I can say this.
Somehow I ended up with your hand towels.
And I keep meaning to tell you, your team is in a cross,
as in fact, as in theory.
Needless to say, boy oh boy, and sing.
Kissy face, give me your oxygen. She
is collared between forgiveness and rest.
You may sleep in the corner, please sweetly.
You may carry paper, carry all of them in your mouth.
What we were promised was cornstarch,
featuring I am all know and other miracles.
Elephants, we will promised out of days.
Who will I erase, and in what company?
Who will shadow signature resist?
Suddenly Seymour, and here's a fish in your hand.
What is behind me has been given sutures and rest.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
And still, I'm not asking for that nearness, nor even
the possibility.
Please, please, this tempting terrible little enemy,
discreet in our tissue and bless.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
Decorate almost queer miscreant.
bear some boy and sing.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
This is what I keep trying to tell you about desperation.
If I could, I would suffer more in that liminal.
If I could, I was my mother's daughter,
and then a series of days came.
We committed suicide when she called me her son, pushed
in a closet and bleeding.
What water holds, you move forward as
if through a jump rope.
You keep a tidy corridor of yesterday's wind.
That there will be a future, in which my twinkle toes calibrate
rescue, finger the witness lightly, now lightly,
in the salty and discontinuous air.
Because I left words out, I did not
want to repeat in the winter.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
Would someone please pass me the technicolor?
Topiary, digressing, in the mouth.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
I always mistook my face for less sinister.
I have only one secret.
And in 40 seconds, that number will become less than three.
When I wash dishes, I fill up the largest bowl with water,
soap, and silverware.
I place this large bowl in the chest of the sink.
Notice the rule of non-recollection.
It is paramount to the myth of the sink.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
Only the fact of what I was thinking there can separate me.
Less than a decade, but what the singer said was years.
Can someone please pass me the technicolor?
Having lived through the funnel both ways,
little intuition calls the scene.
I believe too much of repetition, boy, oh boy,
and sing.
Sing and sing and sing and sing and sing and sing.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
The story of cleavage unwritten, erased perhaps, but still
missed.
She said the thing I want you to remember is the leave taking.
I believe too much in repetition,
having lived through the funnel, both ways.
She's a good boy, no matter what he's.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
Could someone please pass me the technicolor?
Thank you.
[AUDIENCE APPLAUDS]
Thank you TC, Kore, Lisa, Katherine, everyone.
Thank you so much.
Just give them another round of applause.
[AUDIENCE APPLAUDS]