If there is language poetry, surely there is queering language poetry. Rather than out the writer or smell her fragrant 'content,' look at the flexing pornografia in unsayable tracts set for game as well as unmatched as game against dull, told, and wrong.
Queering language stands idle and still divides; it attracts hunters.
How? How can language maim and be hunted and stay queering, ardent? In its heart of hearts the language can't say it's pleased. Unmatched, yet never alone, queering spans language. She makes no sound -- queer, she stands by the door, in the background (the foreground in language), in moonlight, in boycott, looking nearly the same. Poetry then gets addicted to this difference, piled, aloof in fallen heaps, bad language and moods washed away. Queering per se makes language wander; no surrogates remain.
Can you forgive queering language poetry for its wasted life?
Queering has its faithful footmen, its Matisses, its perception machines. It pulls you in. Queering in the world (the figure doesn't figure) is only language, Brazilian girls celebrating their speech overlapping human bunraku. This six-year-old offering his sister for sex.
Pizzazz corroded in language, the queering of rogues, of the human presence felt as a fleck crushed into the hat worn too well by language; the pioneering minimalist queering of vignette supported by a partner, the prodigy queering in the title role, the ring of truth and style, the forceful tenor casting his sex, also his disaster, in language.
Mini-skyscrapers of queering simulate the future of language's extra glass houses and ubiquitous reflections, moony and slack and overemphatic with action wizards, stunning, cocky men, coincident, shadow-drenched women, and elongated others eating the flesh off language. Visitors in queering, their loose lips and weekends of treasure, discussion marathons, radiant voices, the hundreds-odd queer heads of state. Their lips don't just sink language, they put dents in the tallest poetry, testing the limits for height.
After a while language insists we are queering it. No, it's not trying to make you queer. It really wants to sleep with you.
Enormous gratitude owed Tim Peterson, the late kari edwards, along with the other co-editors, and everyone else who has contributed to Queering Language. Particular thanks to Stephanie Young, Alli Warren, Tony Towle, Jeni Olin, Sawako Nakayasu, Farid Matuk, Vincent Katz, Joe Elliot, Dennis Cooper, David Cameron, Brandon Brown, Micah Ballard, and John Ashbery.