Zoe Stoller is a poet and a senior at the University of Pennsylvania. Her writing has appeared or is forthcoming in DIALOGIST, Rabbit Catastrophe Review, Supplement, The New Guard, and Word Riot, among others. She is the Assistant Poetry Editor for Cleaver Magazine and the Web Editor for The Adroit Journal. After graduation, she will begin her work as a Teach For America Corps Member, teaching High School English in Philadelphia.
Because it whitens and five
minutes never repeats. Digging
underneath a star. The liquids and
I do not shake but brain falls
deeply into pit. I am swallowing
without cut. Since the body first
turned red and synesthesia means
itch means temporality murdered
prognosis. Three letters and sudden
sands. Flames curl upward and nip
the knife. Clonic but there is no Y and
I valproate as single for acute.
It does not work and swirls in chest,
no smoke. There exists splotch
otherwise and hairs pour gently. Pliable
without separation. Ylang ylang and
rosewood is charity and eat the price
minus taxes. We let fingers absorb the
skin. And you're doing a world of good
and nicely done and there is
something, a smell good with humans.
Three letters. Gooseberry radiance does
not exist. I am but a lemon, paraben-
free. Nicely done. No lines nor dark nor
edging back to eyes. Colorants
growing from wrists. It is ideal and I
protect Australia from lies and poster
left at home. Each time the bump
produces, stains my bed. I only wear
my nose. Cleaning and this household
is a stapler. Precision in tips without
wonder in my ears. The ribs do not lay
flat. I only have it for one reason.
Silky hair the enemy, sustenance
caught in breasts. It glides customizable
orange. What it is an hourglass and there
are tricks subsiding speech. Long
after panel survey, done what it is what
is it. We can all be wolverine. Brows
exist within canthus and face does
not lean to sun. Nicely done and
is nothing without unique. Makes
the color pop with age without
remembering. Purchased as skin
dissolved and hair not yet highlighting
lips. I cannot find the
patent or the note. In order
to maximize and point lost in language.
And you'll adore the bottle. And one
eye looks the other way. And I wake up
and am elsewhere, and that is all.
I wrote this poem for a creative writing class at Penn taught by poet Kenneth Goldsmith, in which we studied fashion and consumerism as a lens through which to create literature. In this poem, I discuss my morning routine and the ingredient descriptions of products I use, while also dipping into associated language and memories. Working with Kenny for the past few years has been instrumental in my development as a writer, and so I am dedicating this to him.