Dana Kopel

Sad girl, tell it to my heart

sometimes I get drunk and don’t show up where I’m supposed to
I was drunk and I wanted to stay with the man
    who poured me Campari
I can’t be the man’s love
anyway what’s to recommend him, I’ve been loved
    by more beautiful & less available men
not to brag
clearly it means nothing to him, it will not make him love me
where I put his hand
    on my face to make him feel the ridge from
    when I hit myself
    when he said he already has a love
the man doesn’t know how he made a ridge in my face


there is something pink missing in the light
there is something that ought to be faint pink like a Julie Ault wall
and a space to say MACHO MAN TELL IT TO MY HEART

I have two breasts
like many women
when my hormones take over my body they make my breasts heavy
    and very big
hormones make me clumsy
then they make me want to die all the time
my hormones hit my head repeatedly against the closet wall
my hormones blink right when the subway passes me, when a car passes, right when I
    miss my chance to step in front
then I’m an extra sad girl
    after a week or two I get my period and I go back
to being a sad girl


once I slept with an old psychoanalyst
he gave me herpes
I left my necklace in the hotel room and had to go back for it
it wasn’t there the first time, I made a friend go back the second
then someone asked me if that was a thing I did, leaving behind my necklace
    so I’d have to come back, so they’d have to see me again
it’s not
I just sometimes get distracted
or I want to get out of there as fast as I can
one should never take the necklace as symbolic
never take a gesture as anything but what it is, the movement
    of color and texture
sometimes I wonder about the color of my heart
if it’s like wine or meat or this candle burning in my apartment
I wanted a Cynar-colored heart but only
    when I thought Cynar looked like blood, in very dim candlelight
like a gem made of blood then melted

in fact it’s kind of brown like many herbal liqueurs
as with the man I am learning to handle my disappointment

sitting outside at vapiano hauptbanhof drinking a campari soda feeling soo neoliberal

poems that only work in cursive, dry hair from someone else’s bad conditioner
better to pretend you know more of their language

evacuation of wage labor is a product of neoliberalism, the absence of waitstaff meant to be some sort of novelty

but here i am
with a one-time-use food credit card

one onion in a bill lynch painting, black outline of onion on bare wood
ingratiating yourself, stealing grapes on a dare from the dinner at the gallerist’s apartment

spring onions in summer, never experienced a flood

manifest a natural disaster, faster than you can say "never say never"

faster than you can say "respond to the prompt"

charge corporations as people with criminal neglect
instead you get lost in the woods in search of the art tour, strings of deflated white balloons between trees

tfw someone puts their backpack down on the same bench you are sitting on

or you accidentally say things that contradict your politics, because you’re shy and don’t know what to say
your politics are compromised this way

unfair to talk of a skyline, split ends, skype readings, weekends at the north sea

so do i sometimes

so does she

BRIGHT WHITE SOCKS AND BRIGHT WHITE PANTIES OK YES
WE CAN WE COULD HAVE WATCHED THE MOVIE TOGETHER
WE WOULD THE LIGHT AROUND 7PM GLOWING ORANGE ON MY OFF-WHITE WALLS
OFF-WHITE’S NO BRIGHT WHITE BUT MAYBE BUT MAYBE
THE LIGHT GETTING ORANGER THE PIGEONS FLYING TOGETHER IN ONE FLOCKED BUNCH


ONE DAY WE GET THE SAME JUICE FROM THE JUICE BAR SO WE’RE JUICE TWINS
WE GO OUTSIDE AND SIT DOWN THEN WE’RE BENCH TWINS WE LOOK AT EACH OTHER AND
REALIZE WE’RE ALSO MESSY BROWN HAIR TWINS OVERSIZE COAT & JEANS TWINS
WE DRINK OUR JUICE TO THE BOTTOM AND THE AIR AT THE BOTTOM
THEN WE’RE BURP TWINS AND IT’S VULGAR AND IT’S REALLY HILARIOUS WE CAN’T STOP
    LAUGHING


AN OBJECT EQUALS THE EMPTY SPACE IT MAKES PLUS THE PARTS OF IT THAT MAKE
    THE EMPTY SPACE
I FOUND WHAT LOOKED LIKE AN ORANGE SILK CURTAIN ON THE SIDEWALK
VERY DECORATIVE
    AND LINED WITH ORANGE TASSELS IT REMINDED ME OF MARIAN
SHE WANTS TO WORK WITH POOR FEMININE FORMS NOW NOT TO REPRESENT ANYTHING
AS SHE SAYS AND I AGREE THE WORLD IS TOO WEIRD AND BAD TO SHOW IT


YOU KNOW WHAT’S STILL FIGURATIVE THOUGH PORN IS STILL FIGURATIVE
IT REPRESENTS THE THING AND IS THE THING ITSELF
ALL AT ONCE
ON EASTER SUNDAY I FOUND A BUILDING ITS FAÇADE COVERED IN LITTLE STONES AND PAINTED
    PURE WHITE
I’D CALL IT THE APOTHEOSIS OF TEXTURE AS LIVED EXPERIENCE MAYBE
IF THERE IS A GOD SHE LIVES IN THERE WEARING ALL-WHITE WAFFLE KNITS YEAR-ROUND


I HAVE TO DROP OFF SOME LAUNDRY YES OK I HAVE TO DO A LOT OF THINGS
OK IT’S A BAG FULL OF CLOTHING OF FABRIC OF SKINS YOU GUESSED IT
OK IT’S THE BOUQUET OF WHITE TULIPS I LEFT AT A DINER IN HELLS KITCHEN WE WERE
    DRINKING COFFEE & MAKING TOWERS OUT OF LITTLE CUPS OF CREAMER
VERY MATURE
I HAVE A LOT OF PICTURES FROM THAT NIGHT OF OUR HANDS


THIS KILLS ME SHE SAYS HE SAYS HE PAINTED HIS NAME ALONG THE EDGE OF HIS BOARD
    THE CURVING EDGE IT WAS A SPECIFIC DECISION
THE TEXTURE OF THE BOARD OF WOOD OF MEN OF TELEVISION
THE TEXTURE OF THE EDGE OF SILK OF SKIN OF SHEARLING OF BATHWATER & LINES OF COKE
WHAT I MEANT TO TELL YOU BEFORE WAS THAT THE BODY IS THE CLOTHING OF THE BODY

A PICTURE OF BEYONCÉ IN AN ORANGE OUTFIT ON A LOUNGE CHAIR EATING CHICKEN FINGERS
THE ONLY PERFECT THING IN THE WORLD IS SUNLIGHT & IT’S NOT EVEN IN THE WORLD REALLY
AMY TOLD ME A JOKE WHERE SHE ASKED HOW I FELT ABOUT BEING IN AN ALL-WHITE ROOM I SAID
    AMAZING
THE ALL-WHITE ROOM WAS A METAPHOR FOR DEATH THAT WAS THE JOKE
ON ANOTHER NIGHT YOU & I FELL ASLEEP IN YOUR BEDROOM WITH OUR FOREHEADS TOUCHING

water found on mars

    I am still in love w you

in salts, you dumb dog