The Poetry Project

Nora Treatbaby


nature is a pill
I was made to swallow it
have I nothing to do with
what’s inside of me?
flesh is a full on commitment
its invitation: a closed circle

if meaning is possible, it will
occur on the surface. where is

I made Earth swallow it
some woman weeps civically
in accordance with her recycling
there is nowhere for any of it go.


what boundaries am I?
a country doth sway
in the long composition
of the map
one fractal preceding
the deep fake of design

I say call off the search
and live in the splendor
of the gerund.
self dual
we are to be one
figment repeating yet
at some depth: it wavers, laughs.


sometimes I sit
intensely like I am
older time or a person
I wonder about
birds who do not have jobs
about this knee form in use.
I think that my favored
political system
is the one that is
the most relaxing
I wonder about breathing
my relationship to it
is unswaying
a breath an object.
I wonder how each one
in this life will be taken
underneath and stripped
for its radiation and if
there are entrances out
like fragrances of
the next era

My Opinion Is

believing is such and such. a garment upon which we sew origin/ a wet history stretched
into Being/ an exchange or not — a dream in which the Same and Different is what one
life can be, has no whereabouts and yet—more than nothing… There is such an act as
phasing— learning to make naught of authority come from your instrument— but we
can’t endure the strength of this day on curiosity alone. there is a need for shapes—
belief being more specific than reality— the coquette of purpose. belief — as mysterious
as freedom; which is which? as far as faith it doesn’t get much better than believing—
narrow oceans of purpose. believe: against transactions generally. and life is the error
that cuts against it all. the larger the object the harder it is to prove.
gender/friendship/paradise and rent all stabilize in trust. I recall prayer— a fluttering in
the sequence/ a letting loose of birdishness into geometries and fuel/ a complex kiss.
suppose a great surprise will swim from heaven through this believing as if it were a
reason. just a promise to ourselves to be correct/ be inestimable/ battle.


My sexuality that of a houseplant now,
wandering around where god set me.
I hear potent language in saliva
shot through with peace and love
but: I need a hug.

The world has ceased advancing
into a sense of itself and
when do we get to the profound part?

Air being this prolific we rebelled
against it. So called pleasure
of exchange, constantly aflesh
having never been outdoors of oneself.
when confronted with death: certain
beauties / with life: finding reasons.
God’s plan for me is fund-
raising, incompleteness in green
and grey, monitoring my screen time,
kettlebell workouts or
being witness to a dream
that isn’t mine. Anything
that needs its doing to be done.

In order that we may be
each a little garden of our own
I design my movements
so that they end.
xxxxx What did I expect from life?
Today I feel the call of the couch.

Issue 16