Babble On: A Communal Poem

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 waysnot 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…


Babble On


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.)