From hyperglossia by Stacy Szymaszek

Eustace is mnemonic and I am privy to it. he is my council, we use

public money to get out of the penalty. confer any dignity

through the issuance of money. how is my temporal lobe, it looks

like a boxing glove. against my only judgment verbs gun for the

light. this is where the thumb would go. it’s auditory.  it selects and

assigns names. Eustace is ditto. mirror creates space. Eustace is

dittographic, a copyist error, back silvered. to inspect the difficult

i.e. eye corrosion, to gauge the whole appearance, to notify distant

outposts of tactic.  to tap into the immunity of hair gathered

around an injury. FAILURE TO SUPPRESS rampant bleed

the determination from the ministry. conspicuous “Eustace”

_______________________________________________________

                                    undergo expectorant

*

From hyperglossia¹ by Stacy Szymaszek

I meant to make a love

declaration but injured

the words                  

                                                here is a shroud

                                                and an empty spot to my left

   a moustache and beard

   will appear                          in a manner consistent

                                                with my shame 

a proof    :   pollen grains of the region

or             :   girlhood proclivities      

   it was genuine

   even in gesticulation but

                                     “physique” 

                                                         still—

                                                             a disjoined

                                                             festoon

*

From hyperglossia² by Stacy Szymaszek

no one wishes to admit speech

                                                                        blunders run up 

into ersatz description

I am prone to                                                  receivership

but endorse a civilian disaster                                   diversion of genus  

                                                                                    was a vulture

            after all   that secured                        me

from my dark

matter                                                  by ingesting it

     not stored in a binary format

                            wherever it has been deposited

in     

the    

panorama

                                                                           I’ll identify it

*

Note:

1. This poem first appeared in String of Small Machines

2. This poem first appeared in Lungfull! Magazine

**

Szymaszek Poems translated into Have a Good One by Anselm Berrigan

Let’s step out of the day

       for an unscripted haunting

across time            I sharpen                my teeth

                        needing boats

                        to exterminate

the wooly rhino

           & fuck yr flock

                afore ye knew

     a need to possess

                        cargo

I have imagined saying no so often and rarely ever fantasize a yes. One may however own a strategy what contains spitting yes repeatedly as a tactic leading to the fulfillment of a grand vision that will be the unmistakable embodiment and subsequent catatonic astral eruption of a no.

               my kissable lifeline

                         illustrates foraging

                    via $20 burgers

                                                           silence in public

                                                                  is how I work

                  wonder of mortality

                               & risk being tarred elegiac

                some risk                           &  if I can’t wait to properly age, hon?

centimeter by dusk

     by yard

by splintered coalition

    by foot

         by guided missile

   by a gathered mind’s porous non-fear of shit like owning a house

      by delicate flower

           by aphoristic glee of doom in the proto-fauna

                by being prone to negotiate

    by need for a new sack

       by not wanting to argue every god damn day

         by artificial pond

    by blunders run up to get beat down

 by ecstasy of refusal

             by right’s side dull discomfort growing daily

         by above all’s fierce intellect

I’ll summon resistance gets used a lot by academics these days. Get rewarded by a monkey fucking a football or spin the chore sheet, and these things have character and what is that character, how can I convey it or channel it into a intro? I will give my sister-in-law a book about modernism for Chanukah, and my mother something to steal from. To a colleague in the upper American north wilds perhaps an explanation of the difference between ghosts and subject matter. Some perjury for the comrades and a lovely pink slip for moi.

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