anna rabinowitz






Of all colors    the dense lore of them    the black border

hounds the white page    o the demands    on order

one two three    hide in order    four five six    seek land

where the hill breaks    where the shore cubes    the borderland

where looted harbors    where long ago    dolors of gold ore

refused to melt    ingot upon ingot loaded    full on board


how shall I bore into this    who has bored

out of this    please give up your cool    from where border

patrol forces have sped    I will not ignore clamors of language or

disguise myself    o the hooded roaming     in short order

the order to flee    the ports jammed    where the borderlands

why these doors    where the subject/subjects    where land-


ing holds its breath    on the spot    it is inscribed    we all land

together    we’re in it together    o the fictions stored on board

“to think is to fail”    “in it together”    they sing no idea    borderlands

o resonant lanes    o corded woods    the weird boarders

whose untold parties    discarded rooms    numbing disorder

out of which    due to which    on stage    we must reor-


der    out of frayed shawls    erased disclosures    and/or

filthy fingernails    the palm roars in the mind    aborted land-

ings    where folklore shrieked to a halt    where the new order

silenced metaphor    where original lacunae climbed on board

where the temporary name themselves    where the border

takes its memory    where its pulse cannot be found    borderlands


what will it take    the opaque brittles    the night-baked borderland

where candors sprout from rocks    where characters cannot oar

out of estrangements    the darkling of that    will you get bored or

angry being neither here nor there    to have clawed to land

where fish are fowl where it is not manageable    to be on board

hating the mirror and inking your face out of photos in order


to tell less than you know    where there is too much to order

where seams gape and hems weep    where sleeves moan    borderlands

where space is mute    where the volume is low    where board-

ed-up orifices mourn walls    of ships of state unmoored    of rumor

of absence    of digging    of plowing    of people    of no-one’s land

of the tyranny of denial    of the monarchy of doubt    of the border


hoarding more borders    the record defiant with emptiness    of the order

to land before the final history    once and for all to the borderland

quick to the core    where first traces storm    all aboard    going aboard