Drawing Attention to the Human Familiar

I focus on moments of unconscious behavior
All races presume their given places in the

Basic emotional truth of ugliness the finest
Moments look awful like life with children
All brothers and sisters looking level

I level the lens preserving lies about earth
Bearing codes of ourselves taking snapshots
Of deniable circumstance

I use my device to embrace the predicament
The handicap television, the commodity sitters

As stirring up chest hair poses to be sexy
In a marriage to fashion and preoccupation in
The universal traditions of tailored hair

I autograph a portrait of the anniversary of poverty
And pawn it for a manual film camera

The objects of my visions obscure the finest
Moments of stylized embarrassment

Counterfeiting the equivalent of memory
I compile cakes and pets and obvious inhibitions
Of children engrossed in the composition of birthdays.

Published by Lia Yaranon Hall

My name is Lalla. I was a 14th century poet in Kashmir and worshipped Lord Siva. I died and fell from an evergreen tree in the Pacific Northwest (47° 36? 36? N, 122° 19? 48? W). My Lolo found me in an ivy patch. I spent most of my formative years on the coast of the South China Sea spearing fish until I became a "vegetarian" (but we didn't call ourselves that in those days). Shortly after vowing ahimsa, I moved to New York, unironically, under the guise of "poet" so that I could perform aerial stunts and acrobatics for an underground circus called the.

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