A finger baby inchworm
apple amplified in the dark
with eyes rolling back, how she’s pleased!
My eyes open again
and she’s in my face
The only definition that ever existed is the glint
Stars out in blue, all-time cumulus zoo
A metamorphic wet face
Selfie with nuance blowing any which way
No erasure. Only layers. Anarchy girl.
No tracking. Only changes. Butter gamer.
The only definition that ever existed was the glint
Ripe of ages
Phone apple rings
I take a bite spit the bite out and say WHO IS IT
The puzzle didn’t need to conclude firmly
tied up in hopefulness
The puzzle is a riddle with no resolve
Figurehead
She’s a wall-mounted
leader with power
and she’s a happy captive cow and resource
Scrolling amazon I hear an internal voice say where am I
Scrubbing backwards to find something,
I feel my face from the inside:
I am a scarecrow
I ward off trespassers
ragged
I’m a sensual breezeway
clenching zip ties in my fists
Anarchy and worms and alligators in an unmanned garden
Cats are the town criers
and career pagans show up
forcibly compressed like stone
sCrEaM To mAtCh tHe bOdY
ThE BoDy iN AnD DoWn
lAbOr cHuGgInG On
tHe lOuDeSt cAr i aM
MoRtAr, MiDdLe sTuFf tHrU GyPsUm
WaTeR PiPeS AnD MaIl bOxEs
BoUnCiNg oFf oF ShInY CaRs, MoToCrOsS
HoUsEs tHiNkInG OrGaSm oR PsYcHoSiS
sCrEaM To mAtCh tHe bOdY
tHe bOdY In aNd dOwN
sCrEaM To mEeT My cIrClE
mY CiRcLeS CiRcLeS CiRcLe
A cOvEn oF WiVeS
CaPaBlE AnD AsSuRiNg
RoTaTe
lIkE A PeAcH InTo aN OpEn hAnD
oNlY To hIdE AgAiN
A FlOcK Of bAtS WhIpS ArOuNd cUrVeS In a cAvE DaRkLy dEnSe
sCaLe sHiFtInG ExIsTeNcE ShE OcCuPiEs a mAsS WiTh aTtEnTiOn bEyOnD ArChItEcTuRaL cOmPrEhEnSiOn
PeAcH DrOpS
CrAcK HeR FaCe oPeN WiTh a wRiGgLy cRy
SqUaRe mOuTh bElLoWs a lItTlE VeLcRo fRy bElChInG As iF FrOm a dOlL
PuNcH Me wItH EnErGy pUnCh mE WiTh eNeRgY PuNcH My tInY MoSh pIt dÉcOlLeTaGe cLaWeD SwAmP WaTeR GuRu
A PeRsOn hAnGs dOwN FrOm mY NeCk aNd i cAn hApPiLy mAnAgE
FREE CHARGER
Selected writings from 2007–2018
By Morgan Ritter
9 works written over the past decade, poetry and text written in the entirety of Morgan’s twenties.
Published by
Poetry commissioned by Lumber Room on the occasion of Israel Lund's exhibition, Apples (Upper & Lower)
Art as backwash or the foamy water of a corporate fountain
Art as a luxury vibrator near a couch
Art as a placeholder for a sunset, a walk, or a getaway
Art as a point of sale
Art as a bandaid for a hole in the wall, or intellect
Art as a way of saying something happened here. Something lives. Something is finished...
