news | Monday March 30, 2020

Danielle LaFrance reads from Just Like I Like It

In JUST LIKE I LIKE IT, Danielle LaFrance combines poetry and autotheory as a means of targeting ideological infatuation, spilling into an obsession with ideological abolishment. JUST LIKE I LIKE IT searches for ways to kill and abolish “it,” seeking means to get it done right, even when attempted slowly and stupidly, even if the only way out is death.

LaFrance reads an excerpt from “IT MAKES ME ILIAD,” the first section of JUST LIKE I LIKE IT, below – and keep scrolling to see the text of the poems, as well!

Pick up your copy of JUST LIKE I LIKE IT today!


Rage, it belts       like a       rooster’s cock.       Just another       seismic       layer.
This attempt       to wage war on       it as if       it were       overcome
with contaminating       things all too       foolishly       in the       name of
cucumber       fulfillment.       Hesitate       to say       what it is       instead
kissing &       licking the       buckle       of its       wallet       over
& over       again.       Instead       liking it       like a       surgical
hand scrub. Skin       bleeds out blotched       puños.       Too many       layers       gusta.
This is the       fashion &       like it or       not its       in me       & you.
Few of us       forget       this factoid.       I’m going       to spend       everyday       of the
Rest of my       small life       killing it       liking it       over & over again.


Who suffers       thanks to       its non       conflicting       balls. Chicks       for free.
Huggies drip.       Aphrodite       blues       a tired       piece of shit.       Whose blues,
clarity       of sentence       demands       worlds of sexual nonsense.       Total
giving &       surplus       strychnine.       There is no       sleep &       I might
die before       I like it. Time remiss.       It gives       me superhuman strength to
discern it.       Oh Glory       returns to the       riot.       Now I have
to live       life in sext.       Where such lines,       drawn in concrete, force       my hand.
Fight like a       man possessed.       Suicide       bomber,       who I am,       returns       to the riot.
Obsessed with       pornography, everyone’s intensities       estranged from even
numbers &       hedge funds.       ¡_Adiós!_       ¡Hasta       luego!       Forget
about my       grandiose       ego, my       bloated fantasies.       Who’s a piece       of shit.


I do not       work without       armour. No bare stomach saves       this body
from these bosses.       Today’s       delusions       brought to me       by parasitosis.
Picking at       what’s there, stupid.       Immune this       skin. Dare       it bitch.
Itch when this       boss is near.       Dare dare       little one. Skin       thickens post
scratch. Cottage       cheese build up.       Oh Muses,       before       this body       inurns,
Athena       reforms Phoenix.       Miley so       hood, she these boss’s best
friend. Gregor reconciles       toe jam       on Maundy Thursday.       Scrubs post-polished
feet fit for       housing. Feminist       men really       know when       they’re talking
aboot me.       Got hoes       in different       area codes. My librarian
goes       rogue. She       says, “This space       don’t fit       your addy,       please leave
Robert Borden       on the       floor.” I say       to her,       “Librarian,
though you fall       beside       this body, let none shrink from biting.”

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