rebecca wendler was born and raised in northern california. she received a ba from uc santa cruz in political theory and modern literature. she is currently residing in san francisco, studying traditional chinese medicine. as a situationist she finds occasions to print, experiment with photography, social situations, political movements and chap books.
She is a Certified Massage Therapist and a Licensed Acupuncturist.
Her email is : firstname.lastname@example.org
The Calfeteria- What's the Matter?
Conversing in the Dark
The Georgics of Id
Peering through the veil, I
see no clothing
On the anorexic Leviathan.
Filaments synthesized into
But the nail sown in the
His wailing bones forsake his
His breakfast bowl gleams a
thick white mucus.
His grains betray the sod of
As he can no longer see West
Hummingbird tweets to Honey
Bee and Ox,
“Houston, we have a ...”
But two syllables disconnect
Bat Raped By Bushmen Carries
A jackal wraps up baby in his
As the Devil preys truth
mature at dusk.
The Georgics of Id
Of feuds and folly, a family fought
Through fight and flight to conquer its duty.
Oh selfishness you do mock sympathy!
I hate thee for making me love me not.
Merciless lies you beckon to expose
The pitiful guise, your hate and your blame.
Your ignorance speaks only through my name
I trust. Still I am alone to hear these woes.
Inheriting this creed, I cannot rid
My self of self and this altered ego.
Oh Earth when I die, will the lost id
Again seek pleasure in nature’s tango?
My georgics try to relieve this pressure
And I plant a word for every acre.
Desdemona was wronged, and here I stand.
Who deciphers from where the message came?
Iago, not far from me, is there blame
To explain what there is to understand?
No moment among many to see me.
No knowledge of the spark I should have shone.
All hope sinking, thieves rushing to the sea,
Light scattered off the shore was all he'd known.
Forsaken in this land, I want the Moor
Whose ear is more chaste than a judging mind.
Uncovering reasons to trust the score,
He now doubts the coarse origins of my kind.
What betrays me is my own sense of self,
Feeling not the reflection of its health.
The Calfeteria- What's the
The card beeps briskly as we inhale.
In line, bleach's stench leaches traces
Of tough meat, dry beets, and slimy kale.
Graying grapes pale our sour faces.
Vulgar bulghur, please not another
Plate! I already ate lemoned fish,
And the old bread threatens to smother
The foreign face pleading on my dish.
Alas, again a glass of water,
For the poor chap across the table;
Who tipped his tray fighting the matter
More hungry than he had been able.
Conversing 'in the dark'
The conversation has yet to be asked, addressed, "Nightman, what do you make
of the watch?" Through the darkness it has become clearer, heavier, the
robust swirls dragging down the sides of its decanter. I love this; poison
regarded as tumultuous at worst, my senses bogged into the something that was
never always there. Finding one’s own way into the darkness, to theorize the
origins of this desire brought me practically out of it. Upon the light
glistening atop what was mistaken for emptiness were traces of the figures.
Flashing magnificents, they called themselves. "La, la la, la," they chanted
their referents of time to pass the tension. It formed the virtue of their
dark remaining reflections. Turning my nose up at it last time wasn’t easy.
Its aestheticism morphed a mirage into the sum of its totality as it lost its
definition. Even with all that, I still could not withstand the darkness
Standing by my side, now completely immersed, "Quite a long time in coming,"
he said. "Gerunds make for great Gestalt," I said.
Taking another approach to enlightenment because they said their way was the
easiest, revealed a majestic mystery hidden in the myopia of his eyes. Foot
under head when I finally rolled down into it. While trying to surmise the
sensation, I heard, "No promises, just the idea." Liked it so much, I nearly
lost myself! Wanting more of ‘what was that,’ I tried on several of his
slippers, but the size was a bit loose for the reference of time to be the
size of the day. Wrong day, bad day, down day, yes-ter-day brought out only
the worst of it. In night-light, night watch, and nighttime, night would
successfully recall a seasoned altruism.
"Sometimes is the most alone here."
I lost my pen on the way to the post.
While canons spewed letters few, a fever
Of hicks and cops waited to deliver.
Battered red pavement was all I could boast.
I jostled the viscid numerous plumes
Among the rings of odd numbered pigeons.
Alas, even Abel must wait ions,
As the passers by fettered in costumes.
With a posse over Bethlehem, gold
Stars prattle- what has come will come again.
Stamps garner Cain and the Barbarian-
But trite gerunds shame all that has been told.
Hand in the wounds of the so called wretched!
The blood of those unknown waits to be said.
Likened: she is a radiant red rose.
Lovely hands, softened grace, lips light and fill
Agree. Then 'tis life she esteems to thrill.
Down lofty spirit, now justify prose.
Fist-less-coup, she too knows that this power
Lost vigor in strength to preserve heightened
Worth. Divined, a birth reclaims enlightened
Hue; fresh and lucid in one fair flower.
Not just one sense, she infuses all five-
Smell sight, sounding through veins, a melody
Of purpose scored through every poor. Body,
Life, a soul without fragrance is not alive.
Being so rich, but never écourante,
She is fruition for all those in want.
Angst comes a top a tranquil breeze. A dread
Furry whispers, I loved never your
Light caress, tenderness during that hour-
Breathe, he said- I mistook for lusty dead.
What! Fear, I do jeer a profaned disguise.
Truth tries me with gendered bliss. It longed new
Love and peace. Come and bring, nothing. But you-
Imposter! Uncovered: weight I despise.
Dragged down, a bird if forced to live among
Trunks, breathes hope to lighten its imprisoned
Quill. Still air corrodes golden link. Seasoned,
It waits the spell to look for a last song.
As leaves turn, the single abundance allows
Escape. Elevate needs no more belows.
The affect: this drug like immaculate
Exception. To a lesser degree, conception took
To tolling, too. Such waiting heaved the book
Right at my feet parting a hung hooked bait.
The trial only cost two bones, fingers
And toes and the occasional ear lobe.
Lobbed off one, one by one, prying to probe.
Resolute, satisfaction's sting lingers.
The jury reached its final decision:
Hung. So they lobbed off more and attached it all
To hook line and sink her. So far I fall,
Dangling in spite of circumcision.
So appalled am I, having to put out
Only portions I'd rather be without.
Wiped the gore from my face, but there’s one more
Haunted deep inSide; cauStic canker Sore.
Saves me thought, keepS conSciouSleSS alive;
Painful reminderS of how hard illS Strive.
Pity me, ugly me mapped on my face-
DiSguSted they turn recourSe all my grace.
Lively and deep, Smitten deceaSed: WhiStle
No more. I hum noteS with beauty’S thiStle.
Timely chance? He took beauty without thought.
Prized bouquet? I hummed a Sickened not.
Swore he. CurSèd intuition damned me.
The thorn-prickling trance inStilled Safety.
Such a lucky fellow, found deep muSty
Stench. Summon the Shrewd Stem of chaStity.
Discretion suggests such curious knave.
Wrongly fraught with deception, only to
Construe love, adornèd betwixt my you.
Revealed as truth, we lie become behave.
This in common bond we seek, share and save,
Lest divulged quest takes another hue.
Utter lie, perversity reigns anew,
Smiting improper rage with all we gave.
Because our fates are careful intertwined,
Enemy in other should we not create.
Fear, though, in each our hearts lends angered hate:
Does discretion turn deception in mind?
Shhh, its by true virtue we are not lost,
Path through trails inward, hidden in all cost.
Lately I’m vigor, trying all the doors.
What am I: looking for Mother May I...
Your home’s so cozy, so comfortable...
I lose vigor, alls-purpose tumble
From this counter display, to waxy floors,
Sparkling dishes that smile write me back.
Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?
A calendar, some’ores? I want a patch,
A gold star, a sticker on my bumper.
I’ll come back when it’s stitched on my jumper.
Is solvent necessary; water washed
Drapes cleaned up perfect imagination.
Occupational hazard: I’m dizzy.
Lost and found t’exist not -‘cause I’m busy.
Only of-ten can this weighty prose show-
As love harbored and lurking inspire:
Come forth, scribe to one all which I thee owe.
Contempt beseeches in this trance t’escape mire.
Fear then if fear is desirable:
Conscience runs amuck as floundering fish;
Then ten transcend as salmon from sable
In night, one enlightens ten: poetry’s wish.
Up this ladder from former inhibition.
That one, does distinguish from ten; worthy praise.
For fear it wasn’t to one my attraction;
Anon, popular ignorance, one amaze.
Inverse: Diversity makes divine
I do will myself, object this line.