my collection

note: I divided the poem into paragraphs even though it's originally all one block of text because tumblr has a character limit per block, and for readability. I tried to stick to dividing it between sentences, but I will say that I can't actually tell if some of the punctuation marks in the poem are periods or commas.

gender/rant

by m. regan

i have seen the best minds of my generation, (fucked) UP by gender, by what we (think) it means, what it's supposed to mean, by what we (want) it to mean—i have seen "girls” slapped down by the word (itself) made a mockery of their own arms, i have seen "boys” of every age, stripped of their finery, i have NEVER seen a "boy” or "girl” only girl-boys, boy-girls, boy-boys and girl-girl-boy -girls—this is the LAST line in the LAST bit of sand, all other battles begin and END here—this is not a list of performative acts, not a choice between one of two, "fuck the binary” the t-shirt says and i laugh, laugh and say when you are NOT one or the other you are either NEITHER or BOTH, you are a/lone you are (me) and we are forced to call each (other) by NAMES not categories not (pro)nouns, professional/nouns pro-active, I have seen legs and backs stacked in rooms waiting to be assembled and sent to the “boys” room/“girls” room (waiting) to be assigned a label, outside of which your hands, your eyes, will not matter will never (matter)—outside of which (nothing) else you ever are, have been, will be, will EVER, i have seen and i have (never) touched another single HUMAN being on ANY (single) street without a metal spike suspended over (me) over my (face) how many articles of clothing (make) you into a lateral plate, a horse, a shallow groove, an archangel, a metal bar?

this is not a (straight) thing not a (gay) thing not a “woman" (thing) not a "man” (thing) a thing/thing this is (not) queer, not/trans, not Elle/GQ/Vogue not fashion not any/thing that would make (you) comfortable this is not (a word) that you would RECOGNIZE, not a world you would (wreck) in the night i have seen us (ALL) dividing, cutting ourselves into gestures/performance/acts of clothing that ROT/scraps of meat and bone—if (you) asked everyone/and we DO/if you (asked) all the “women" to stand on one side of the/prom/room and all the "men" to stand/prom on the/other side, this is to SAY what could (be) simpler? this is to SAY that some of (us) would NOT stand could not (stand)—in 3rd grade carter gilliam passes me a note that says “if you were a ‘boy’ I would like you" in 4th grade I am skiing/badly in VIRGINIA and a small creature in a flowered skisuit sits next to me on the lift and says, “my parents would never let me ski alone, if you were a ‘girl,’ you'd understand" I gentle my grandmother into the car she says what a sweet "girl" I am I give an old mexican “woman" my seat on the bus, she says I am a "gentleman,” my wife is lucky to have me.

where is (gender)? if it's on the body, then I got SCREWED In college they give me a (button) that says “I like girls” the t- shirt I bought at the mall says “chicks hate me” and I WILL I can and I will open your car door because we BOTH (know) that you can damn well do it your/self and you know that (I know) and that's WHY you let me do it and THAT'S why it means something DONOT be an (asshole), “she” can take care of herself, “he” isn't waiting for you to tell him he’s brilliant/are you SURE? this is SOCIAL CLASS/IFICATION if you (were) you'd understand—i am not solving (this) for you, I am not (telling) you a story, this is not a man/ual i am not a homo/fag/predatorylesbian/butch/dyke/femme/girlygirl/top/bottom your CLOTHES don't (fit) me, if you name me I DISAPPEAR if i don't name myself I DIS/APPEAR this is not an intellectual (exercise), i am putting morphine into J's mouth as she slips into a coma and i want to say FUCKGender there’s no TIME do you get it, there is no FUCKING time.

work it the FUCK OUT i have been cut and cut up and cut out and cut into and I don't want to cut anyone else i will call you whatever you call yourself, I will not (let you) die—how can you tell the truth if you won't confess? absolution? cancer will fuck (up) your day, but disdain, pretension and condescension will KILL you confessional poetry? goahead, shootmeinthefuckingBACK, poetry where you tell whatever truth is in yr. hands right now? is there (another) KIND? make what you (BELIEVE) I ob-ject to the I as/Object as objecti- fied, look, you idiot you are DYING (RIGHT) NOW, the class of the body, the hierarchy of language, my sister/brother’s friends want to be called Girls, tim calls his buddies at the bar the Girls, the waiter calls us Girls, cut, cut, stitch, cut cut, stitch, there’s no TIME I want to say there’s not enough time to do anything but our WORK/cut, cut. stitch, cut, the DREAM of a (common) language, you see?

“she” says, i had a dream about you and i say “yeah? was i taller?” he says “and what does your boyfriend think about you not having reconstruction?” the receptionist says, “yeah, we’ve had a lot of you guys through here this week.” do you get it? the language (is MATTER) matters, the sound of your voice shutting UP for a minute while i tell you (who) i am matters if we-re fixed if we don't (move), we (die)—it is not what comes OUT of the body that makes you ill, it’s what (stays) IN i have seen the best of all of us.

trying to get it RIGHT, trying to (figure) OUT which pronoun will (least) offend, i have seen our minds weighing each word, tossing them (carelessly), throwing hooks into each other, without ever feeling the LIMITS of language without (trying) HARDER “the mind,” bobbie says, “the mind throws the body away and runs” loren can bench 250 i can strip a 9mm in the dark, my (MOM) would kick your ass soon as (look) at ya, but it’s a baby BAT in the doorway, for christsakes, not a WILD BOAR, (call it) by whatever name fits (its) skin—i have seen privilege on 8 yr olds, have seen (reduction), essentialism. violence, have seen a (mother) stand in front of 70,000 people and say of her F2M child, “I love my son" i have seen mothers NOT (stand), i have seen the standing it/self mother so many, i have been a father for a day and a damn (good) one, i have seen the best, the best of all of us, “mad to (live), mad to breathe (free)” i have put my fingers onto the worn (rungs) of bunks in concentration camps, have seen that we all (die) the fucking SAME, each of us alone, with one breath stacked (slowly) upon the next, i have tried to make it last, to be polite, to correct you (gently) but there is NO time, get (busy) living/get busy (dying), but take your hooks out of my FACE, erase yourSELF FIRST, stand up or they will (DEVOUR) you, make your peace, “writing is a (debt) of honor to the (self),” when they (lock) the door take (off) the HINGES cut cut stitch, don't waste it, don't let ANYONE make you (small).

~~~~~~

Bullpen

Cornelius Eady 1954 –

That first week at the first Cave Cavem nobody seems to sleep; we have given them one rule: a new poem before lunch. They come to the lounge each evening to print their poems and never leave.

In Kingston NY there is a Walmart with cold chicken buckets. Nobody seems to sleep. We are fitful, almost stuttering lines between bites. Didn’t Emma Goldman once say

what good is a revolution without some God Damn dancing? We say: lick your fingers, bite the skin. Toss the bone right in the middle of the table. Make sure the flavor stains tomorrow's page.

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