The erection: his mistress only delivers
\ncigarette holes in their arms protesting
\nthat he already desires a woman’s bonarcotics
\ntobacco haze of capitalism
\nshe discovers her own body: her dependuted super-communist pamphlets in union
\nfirst experiences, an is ordinarily weeping and undressing while the sirens pay his partner, or court, solicits
\nalamos wailed them down, and wailed
\nthe young girl is courted and solicited ewall, and the Staten Island ferry also
\nwith the man, he is the one who takes
\noften older and more experienced, crying in white gymnasiums naked
\naggressive and imperious. Lover or husband, hebling, before the machinery of the other in bed, where her only choice is to let go the neck and shriek with delight that engulfs her. Her modesty may have been tacars for committing no crime, but their roots. Men and women all know the shame cooking pederasty and intoxication, immobile presence, its unjustified immanence their knees in the subway
\nthe absurd contingence of the roof waving genitals and men who say they cannot stand to be fucked in the ass by saintly activity
\nforce, cock is no longer blown by human seraphims, modesty paralyses young men much less than caresses of the Atlantic and Caribbean
\naggressive role exposes them less to being gazed in the morning, in the evening in the rose, they do not fear of being judged because it is not the grass of public parks and mistresses demands of them, it is rather, scattering their semen freely to have the option of transforming her flesh into will. Come who may.
\nShe gives it up without defenses.<\/p>\n
Cyber me baby<\/strong><\/p>\n A declaration like this one, then you remember CS<\/strong><\/p>\n Put it in ABOUT THE AUTHOR<\/strong> I say New poetry from Maren Nyg\u00c3\u00a5rd<\/strong>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":155,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-81521","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/81521","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/155"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=81521"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/81521\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":81980,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/81521\/revisions\/81980"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=81521"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=81521"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=81521"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\na sheet of paper from the knitter-woman
\nwe found ourselves in a digital landscape
\n\u2018I didn’t receive one’ everything was as it is here
\n\u2018everyone received one but you?
\n\u2018perhaps it fell’ just soft and transparent
\nyou could sink your toes into rocks like moss
\n\u2018don’t move, don’t touch a thing!’ huge, glowing birds flew straight through them
\nI am forced to communicate this
\nenveloped by digital air
\nwe entered a wondrous space
\nperhaps it’s not necessary, unreal, weightless
\nI am a defender of the people transmitted from an unclear source
\n\u2018I regret, forgive me,’ don’t say we were surrounded by transparent walls
\n\u2018Form!’ pleaded Aaron, quivering and you were transparent.
\nThey’re numbered. I’m not allowed. As if made of fog you walked
\nwithout tripping over anything
\nI’ll fill it according to regulation and the magnetized words
\nhe had by then begun to lose
\nhis dignity, were like a puff of air
\n\u2018what’s going on here?’ Barked
\nlightly moving hair
\ngrass
\nHe was very angry, and we experienced unspeakable lightness
\n\u2018Dushansky! Without batting an eye, we could enter one another, prepare an indictment
\nfly into one another with our bodies.’
\n\u2018Don’t punish me.’
\nWhen we did that, suddenly we were switched off.<\/p>\n
\ncodes
\nI fantasize about Frank, or Frankie?
\ncar sex
\nalways
\ncar sex
\nThere is only so much room in an attic.
\nI tell you with
\nSigns
\n\ud83d\ude09
\nYou are stranger than me, aren’t you?
\nThese are essentially just intellectual games,
\nor so we think they are
\ncall it
\npoetry.
\ncar sex
\ncar sex
\ncall it
\nhelp.
\nHumping mustangs.
\nyou
\npick up the phone, I’m holding it in.
\n\u2018You idiot’
\n\u2018Bae’
\nI say
\nyou say
\nthis lousy t-shirt is Hounslow
\nI’m floating with Piri piri Chicken.
\nIt’s mother’s day and you ask about orphans.
\nCar sex
\ncar sex.
\nThere is only so much room in an attic
\nI tell you with
\nsigns.
\n\ud83d\ude09
\nthey told me
\nyou can appear happy
\nI tell you
\nwith
\nsigns
\n\ud83d\ude09
\nAll bets are off, including crying
\nexcluding
\ncar sex<\/p>\n![\"marenn\"](\"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/MarenN-e1473452492387.jpg\")
<\/p>\n
\nMaren Nyg\u00c3\u00a5rd<\/strong> is a Norwegian poet and editor. She recently graduated from Kingston University where she was a member of the Experiments and Innovations in Poetry program. Here she found herself at home and continues to write and explore experimental poetry in both English and Norwegian.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"![\"marenn\"](\"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/MarenN-420x179.jpg\")
<\/p>\n
\nyou say
\nthis lousy t-shirt is Hounslow
\nI’m floating with Piri piri Chicken.
\nIt’s mother’s day and you ask about orphans.
\nCar sex
\ncar sex.
\nThere is only so much room in an attic
\nI tell you with
\nsigns.<\/p>\n