As the 12th Street Journal‘s 2o15 print submission deadline (Nov.15th) draws near, the staff has been engaging with the New School community in a variety of ways—not excluding creativity tarot readings by our managing editor, Charlotte Slivka, with her major arcana deck of famous writers. The only price we asked of New Schoolers seeking guidance in their artistic journeys in the cards, was to contribute a line on their mind to a student-written poem. The following poem consists solely of fifteen lines submitted by fifteen New School students, who stopped by the 12th Street Journal table and dared to seek…
I have no idea, I’m sorry… too personal, too 2-
D; it toppled everything in me. No country can suppress truth
& live well, you say, &, I’m a pro-black radical, I give no fucks.
A city of coffee, cups, gum & infinite possibilities, but plastic
cards shuffled me the wrong way. Babble on
if you must. If you don’t, no one will hear. Your hands
would rather render shallow time in shallow seas, you insist.
No. Sickly sweet transmutations will order my day. Possibilities
are endless. I make harmony with the salt
& pepper: an unconscious search drawn to a find.
Real eye’s realize real lies. I can’t—I can’t do it under
pressure. Breathe deep—even if it’s water—even if it makes a fire.
Today is the first day of the rest—
Precisions now in tedious light. (I’m sorry if I was a pain in the ass.)