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Red Paint

ann pedone / poem

from The Greenland

Beget the aorist 

Beget vendetta 

Beget fucking as a way to better situate the mind 


In the collective libido of “mouth please”

everything is done on camera, everything is penetrated, but 

only according to the grammar of so many trapped things 


While I’m still here in the shower 

trying to wash off the stink of squid & a generalized nippling 








Engineering an uncertain desire 

before the last egg drops

steadily 

various forms 

of foreplay and conception and premature ejacu 

lation all retain a strong faith 

in images 

while narrative is a thin red line 

pharaohing its way down the page 

with a spasm, a lingering, an eroticism that strives to 

equate “blue door” classicism with a hymen that breaks only when looked 

at under a magnifying glass


It’s that kind of “halftones” thinking. One that can easily be confused with 

paranoia or a girl’s small thimble-full of amnesia 








To open the body is to make more body or, in 

other words, inter

course in an empty field, she said, is just about the Greekest thing possible 


Quick! Ask me how much of my surface 

is left. Ask me how much it’s going to cost me to continue to sing 


She said: Tightening yourself around a thing is no guarantee 

that the mind will inhere 


Is it in the shape of leaves? 


Is it the best way to narrow?


 

Ann Pedone bio

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