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poem for a flat ontology


indebted to: spinoza, deleuze, law, and every other new materialist arguing for no essential distinction between things, whatever that means


i am the flat am the kitchen am the floor am the toenails i cut off my body am the windows am hands am knees am the recycling am the wardrobe the maggots in the bottom of the trash bag am the blankets the dead mosquito bodies the wifi waves the leaves brought in from the backyard the acne the eyelashes the bathtub the flesh the blood the garlic out on the counter the microwave beeping the broken fuse the words on this page on the internet that you are now reading i am all of them

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i named her Marianne.

i have one almost every day.

my mother was a computer by

katherine hayles

posthuman knowledge

by rosi braidotti

the complete short plays & prose of samuel beckett

frankisstein by 

jeanette winterson

virginia woolf

my year of rest and relaxation by ottessa moshfegh

TS eliot collected poems

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