a fragment from Copper Stories

 

humor me

 

do you want me to

spill my fluids

more

so that you can read

my mind like a book

& taste my body like

peaches, and other

seasonal fruit,

plums

 

I will lick my fingers for you, but I can’t

make them stop moving––

 

the atoms vibrate,

you know

that, we all know

that

 

so, will you check my frequency?

 

will you check the arch of my back when you enter me, and then the curve of my ass pressing into your groin?

 

do you think I have a split mind?

 

split mind

double half,

 

tied in part to the heart, in part to the brain because we (= you + I (or something between our
selves)) all know that the mind is however softly attached to the body. Licking the flesh.

lining               why

upon seeing these two words, because I misread my own handwriting, do I choose one over
the other?

 

what points to the touch of our soul?

 

when language becomes omnipresent

 

and the world of

objects falls away

 

is there a word for the full nothing of Zurbarán’s black backgrounds, or Kay’s dream depths?

 

blue sigh

a let go

pulled back

 

part way, half a

face

a close

reach

finger to eyebrow

following your            face lines

unmasked,

 

we are a touch

which is your body

the one side of your face

(one of many)

 

is also my body

I am rendered through your body

am outside myself,

in need more to be alone

 

to not disappear

 

but…

 

slowly unfold

to refold

 

to not reveal

 

to rope parts of my soul as the world keeps spinning

 

as your heart keeps pumping

as your mouth keeps breathing

 

como tu corazón sigue amando

como tu boca sigue amando

 

 

often the difference between layers is indistinct, they are not meant to differentiate but to
hold––sometimes all of us. The sediments of Earth. When you look at the stars and believe in
their light, you believe in a current history. The past is ever now. It is a matter of moving
through instead of to things, coiling a memory

 

a mind sense

 

think of our fingers entwined

no space in between

though still at a distance

moving through & becoming between skin, sex, the unspoken, good sins, a
sense of self welded by someone else

 

moving as multitude of being human.

 

 

 

 

Lara-Schoorl-Dream-Pop-Press

Photo by Isabella Rozendaal

Lara Schoorl is a poet, curator and art historian from the Netherlands and lives in Los Angeles. She is the publicity manager at The Green Lantern Press in Chicago and works at the Museum of Jurassic Technology and Hat & Beard Press. Her recent writing can be found in The Conversant, The Huffington Post, Tique Art Paper, University of Arizona Poetry Center Blog, The Los Angeles Review of Book, and the anthology Sisternhood. She is a co-author of the end of may.