Eleanor Jackson is a Filipino Australian poet,
performer, arts producer, cyclist, writer, gal
about town, feminist, freewheeler, and
friend. One day, she is going to be an
ideas curator. Which basically
means, she will tell you
exactly what she thinks.
Until then, you’ll have
to read between
the lines.
the relentless crescendo
poorly marked out, only a daub of paint
here there here where they’re there
I have left my imprint printed in printed on your chest
how foolish to love and love and to care
here there here where they’re there
pat me on my arm, I can tell this is making you uncomfortable
all the unformed sloppy parts of me
why would you cry for me?
I haven’t meant to burn right through
how crazy to imagine that I ever even never could
why would you cry for me?
heave through my lungs, I can tell this is making you uncomfortable
muffled through the speaker stack
we don’t dance we don’t wanna
I have got my face on my face face on that doesn’t see you
how strange to thresh and never movewe don’t dance we don’t wanna
sit on my lap, I can tell this is making you uncomfortable
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