Some have suggested
that I put secret messages
through, that
war
can slip
to the side and
through, like
a body in a dance.  Not so.
Message
embedded

in language
is war’s most accurate
beneathness.  The cryptographer,
yes, she will get to coin
her own term.  To make my arms
lean enough to accommodate these
bracelets, I had to kiss them.  I was
made to humiliate my own
slenderness.  Lovers attenuate
inside code.  New codes
clatter from wrist to shoulder.
Decorative
as the signs (yes, ciphers, were always
less symbolic than their politics) broadcast themselves
to be, allied
to the evasions of the limb
whose signature
they are.
 

Joomla SEF URLs by Artio

Buy Lana Turner #9

Issue 9 is HERE!

Order Now

@ltjournal on Twitter