in other words
by Marguerite Saxton
A Catalog of Works
- July 2022 (1)
- June 2022 (7)
- November 2020 (1)
- September 2020 (1)
- September 2019 (1)
- August 2019 (2)
- May 2019 (1)
- April 2019 (3)
- November 2018 (2)
- September 2018 (3)
- November 2017 (1)
- October 2017 (2)
- May 2016 (1)
- April 2015 (2)
- October 2014 (2)
- July 2014 (1)
- March 2014 (1)
- February 2014 (1)
- November 2013 (2)
- October 2013 (3)
- September 2013 (1)
- August 2013 (1)
- July 2013 (1)
- June 2013 (1)
- May 2013 (3)
- April 2013 (4)
- March 2013 (2)
- February 2013 (1)
- January 2013 (2)
- December 2012 (2)
- November 2012 (4)
- October 2012 (4)
- September 2012 (3)
- August 2012 (1)
- July 2012 (6)
- June 2012 (4)
- May 2012 (7)
- April 2012 (7)
- March 2012 (2)
- February 2012 (6)
- January 2012 (7)
- December 2011 (5)
- November 2011 (6)
- October 2011 (1)
Monday, July 25, 2022
Wednesday, June 29, 2022
Tuesday, June 28, 2022
owl
this mezcal manhattan and a mountain.
i mean,
a fountain.
i mean,
we aren't in danger now
and we don't hold breaths here.
nammod
every day.
equal parts waiting,
equal parts killing it all.
i carry a faint scent in my pocket, once in while moving it to the back to pretend it's behind me.
sometimes, it gets taken out,
mixed with water.
sometimes, it gets thrown off a cliff or smashed into the dirt or set on fire.
but it comes back,
rematerialized
and rude;
gentle but demanding to know the
other names,
the ones I want to be written because i want to love them.
and i stay
disassembling the letters of a special one because
it
takes
up
space.
spaced in the space i don't have because the scent is getting fainter
and yes, i know.
others have "U's" too.
Monday, June 20, 2022
"jd"
Produced in 2020. Visual essay adaptation of Horacio Quiroga's 1920 short story, "Juan Darién". Special thanks to Castro-Winter Studios, Dusty Circuits, Franz Bühler, and Nando Rivas for making this project happen (in a pandemic).
gspl
somewhere between suicidal and just really tired. you know this place, don't you?
the word is taboo. but it's not about ending living's lease. what if your body were origami and i could rearrange it how i pleased? an empty cupboard. so lite. so new. unordinary and full of what used to be you.
somewhere between novelty and nowhere. where, where...where you get everything you wanted and messages don't make it through. well, some do. but others remain suspended in silence. intoned by guesses and closed down cells. resounding in grocery store parking lots like some playful hell.
so.
would it feel nice to be capsized then reorganized?
to fall into the version where you question if it happened at all. because now it's so quiet and it's nowhere and I went home to a wife and a life that is better or broader or bent in the right direction. would you sit in the questions? pine for a goddamn lesson?
would you even know what to do?
Saturday, June 11, 2022
ll
I’ll carve two lines in me if it means I won’t forget you
If it gives the tactile jog of who you are
and
may be for me
One line for M
The other line for M
Running parallel and raised
Streaming sangre and the daze
of making decisions
Never not there
Two lines
Running parallel
Etched into my thigh
Ones that touched
then exploded
Broke and imploded rules and people and
things that were made to protect
Tuesday, November 3, 2020
6 yr stop
Monday, September 28, 2020
palo verde
cactus & candles and a new place to live
yet another new place to live
how often one scoops
carries their own bag of bones
their stupid sack of flesh
their silly sinews
all arranged into a human
how often do i dig under my own feet to find where i begin
then i begin
to trace the roots and tap the umbilical origin
of palo verde green and still observations
cool nature
the romance of this "desertness"
how perfect to be waiting here for him
always waiting on him
to come around