i cannot find wisconsin on google or in my soul
nor do i want to. milwaukee fades like greyed-out photographs
moves like water, recedes—even the small towns known for sports
for white guys, the backdrops of family ghosts, falling leaves, haunting
every vignette. can i transition for you? become the last vestige of life
this blaze-orange memory of what was. my friend texts me that
she can't make it out here this year
due to being in portland—she apparently did not know how far it was
despite having access to google—she wonders if milwaukee
is in oregon. wonders if every city is a carbon copy of the next
wrapped in the silver film of twitter, of transaction—infighting and desire
trampled on like suspiciously yellow snow, like dark wood
like watching your gender drown
in the great lakes you once belonged to. she wonders
if the world is liminal—the only reality nestled in the corners
of her trans mind. i have to agree. so your body is trans
and mine is a map of the isthmus
i am bent at the edges only here through the displaced
through greyish waters that linger on the borders
of reality and satellite images green and grey and faded
just because you find madison tiny, insular doesn't mean
you can't disappear in her.
mk zariel (it/its) is a transmasculine poet, theater artist, movement journalist, & insurrectionary anarchist. it is fueled by folk-punk, Emma Goldman, and existential dread. it can be found online at https://linktr.ee/mkzariel, creating conflictually queer-anarchic spaces, and being mildly feral in the great lakes region. it is kinda gay ngl.
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