a.Monti

organs for grasping


potent sky of the longest night 

hovering above cold concrete like organs 

made to collide winter

i worked for her cellular money 

and woke up with a sock that was not mine 

and woke up with a day that was not mine

i never meant to find myself in such a cold place

i never meant to

Then a pause, a knock

there was something 

else i needed to remember 

O

What happened if i held it loose

what happened if i looked 

on the other side

of clay, there was touch

______

waves were smashing the shore, later someone would claim 

mountains flew into the house, those five words, mountains

flew into the house,

i paused and there you were amongst the paintings

like you had always been, lilac horizon playing darts with sun 

at the doorstep 

A shore goodbye 

A site of chewing the formerly unwiedly blob of reality 

an eager cherry blossom tree wraps the sock around my throat 

    and says what you meant to do was

this   ______    i take up space in the precision of my breath   

horizon line, i took your muscle into myself and

found that self was an unfurling, that it could be warm

doorsteps were circling all around us while the neighbourhood stood perfectly still and witnessed 

my brush stroke thicken and throb on my tongue

that is when i said to you, horizon

i am nothing but here and  O  _____

and the sun said: let the light in 

Despite the wind we counted

Let the light in

to discover heat

inside every 

day and

O  _____

it’s yours

it’s you

On a good day

life and death are lovers

meet each other 

with liquid affection across lines of

ceaseless mutation and doubling, eating and sharing

i saw you, horizon, in a dream 

before we met, and wind knows

you still have all the time in the world for this

horizon is the only one you’ll ever have

cream

 

Sugar mammal, slit throat

Infinitely tender in your cadence

Telling people you love them

Selling them ice cream

Holding their hands on an airplane

Forgetting you’re not in Heaven

Then forgetting you’re in Heaven

Then forgetting nothing

Remembering it all

Forgetting this is what heaven feels like

Like a manageable sucking

Gentle

 

 

August 

I gave pleasure to paintings 30.000 years ago 

I am etching “here” into my lover’s language, Here, I was here,

her body changes the lines 

Here

 

 

May

The social depends on more or less convenient agreements of how to measure space and time

Lines are created as an effect of the repetition of certain walks and expressions 

Laugh lines, furrows through the fore 

head Here 

Here Here

Well walked upon forest paths 

But the paradox of the footprint is that lines are both created by being follwed and followed by being created

 

June

don't disappear 

into my lips April

It is by following some lines more than others that we acquire a sense of who we are 

 

 

July

Yesterday we sold out of pistachio, cookies and cream, matcha, earl grey lavender

Body orients towards person with strands of curly, grey hair. i ask: waffle or wavers she says she

hasn’t had wavers in fifteen years, procedes to call the moment “prustian.” i have no idea what she is

saying, respond “prustian ice cream temporalities,”  she laughs approvingly, the line behind her is

getting long, what would it be like to lick, where the ice cream goes it drip drops onto her collar

bones her neck her fingertips i’d like to suck them gently make her giggle quick and sticky it is a 100

degrees, she says, whats your name on venmo, i want to tip you i say theres a tip jar righ there, she

says, but your name, i say yes 

yes 

yes 

three more times Here it smells good down Here would you like a sample 

 

Sugar mammal, open throat

Tethered to the thickest part

Life is full of far and close most of all 

it’s the breezy stuff that keeps me Here

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Amanda Monti is a trans-disciplinary poet and translator based between Berlin and New York City. Projects alternate between performance, pedagogy, sound and collaboration. Their poetics are currently devoted to vowel sounds and wormholes. Amanda's poetry collection Mycelial Person (Vegetarian Alcoholic Press, 2021) has been adapted for radio as SporeRadical at Montez Press Radio. More work can be found through the ICA London, The Poetry Project, McSweeney’s, ExBerliner, Cuntemporary and The Offing, amongst others. 

Get in touch through their website: https://softie.space