Sandra Doller is the author of several books of poetry and poetry-adjacent things
including Oriflamme, Chora, Man Years, and Leave Your Body Behind, plus a
smattering of collaborations, translations, prose and the in-between: The Yesterday
Project, Sonneteers, and Mystérieuse by Éric Suchère. Doller is the founder of the
international literary journal and independent press of cross-genre arts, 1913 a journal
of forms/1913 Press, where she remains l'éditrice-in-chief, publishing poetry, poetics,
prose, and all else by emerging and established writers. She lives in the USA,
somehow, on the lower left.
Am I specific enough for you. Did you hear me taking care of everything.
Did you notice I already set it out. Fixed it up. Placed each item side by
side in the box with a clean cloth between. Remember to loop the straps
over your wrists so you can carry more. Don’t forget the things I told you
that you didn’t hear didn’t listen didn’t want to know yet. Remember all
the parts in the middle. Forget the end.
At first things were fine. Great even. Some might say wonderful in an
email. Might look up alternatives like magnifique. When she learns how
to say splendid the game is begun. The pink parts got lost under some
furniture. Piles of dusty. Once a friend called and you stared and stared
at it like an open letter. No, a bill. You don’t answer those any more. Not
until the collection comes.
We are in the thick of the steak meat now. And I mean our own. Raw on
the sides but fairly well familiar to the tooth. Stringy sinew and stingy
bone. The velvet cup meat is best enjoyed cold. How do they talk about
flesh and if they had to stop eating it or die we know the answers. They
would build entire systems designed to falsify records and distract with
more visible natural disasters like elementary school or fairgrounds with
nothing but corn cake around the animal. Sweet surprise.
A shooting is a matter of opinion apparently. I’m just saying what you
thought. I had a failure of elimination. It could only be predicted. All the
statistics were on our side. We were so right, so dying.
I can see the other side from here. It’s just a walk across a faulty bridge.
Keep doing what you do well which is bare minimum. You are good at
nothing. And I mean that in the most meaningless way possible. Watch
the hole in the covered part over the ravine. That’s where they decide
future tax credits to pay for all the pillage.
There is nothing to check anymore. I’ve read all the updates and the scroll
just stopped. All caught up here. Nothing new. Got that out there in time.
Piled up the thumbs. Quick a button.
Could do this all day. Did.