kathryn regina

this morning I took your place during the night

The light from my lamp blows the sail across its reflection. Your blade of grass is giving you to my blade. I ride on a blue rectangle across the plaster mask. The sun has a real sun somewhere, just like I have a mother.

Somewhere the support structure is having coffee and weather. I have an S and an s. I can move across the desert.

The grass is glistening, why is it glistening like sushi.

Hello, unusual request. I have never met your mother.

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Kathryn Regina’s project is alive at Wunderkammer. I will tell you more about this later.

rereading things, it’s raining, feeling sort of bad.

I’ve been rereading Kathryn Regina’s chapbook, As I Said. It’s free and it’s online, so if you want to read it, go here. (Yes, it’s issuu: if you don’t want to get dizzy, click on a page, then move the slider at the top of the screen to the left.)

Here are some lines I really like:

An ant is crawling into a hole looking for something
Something is written in the dirt and it’s nothing mystical
says the ant whose whole life is mystical [11]

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“You are moving around like one of those white butterflies
so close to being a moth.”

“Aren’t all butterflies moths the way squares are rectangles?”

“The way they handle light is different.”

If she looks at me long enough I will become something different
like a window pane or the reflection of a tree in the kitchen faucet

“Not completely different, just added to.” [16]