olga mikolaivna

consider if a poem existed 

i. 

smoked cigarettes in the foyer, the silence of capitol hill.  
engineering my way into the abyss. a day earlier watched oranges fall onto the ground — 
stamped upon, broken open. 

time ruptures.  
the rupture is heavy. moments in solitude fracture and suture.  
  timescales  

timescapes flounder.  

city is gray and sepia in its oceanic, sunny splendor. residue defying orders feel like walking in  spite of the weather — for the conflictual in me. punctuated, repeated, repealed by the ongoing  crisis in regards to the bus moving and the bus arriving, stopping, noticing my body. 


                                                                                                                                                                          that which fails to coalesce (a form)ⁱ 

ⁱ lara mimosa montes

ii.  

(after srikanth reddy) 

katabasis, a return to the river of highways, divided stymied beneath. dried out river. 

orange blossoms 
orange blossoms 

the ruinous before us, celebrating though ghostly apparition, ghostly occurrences, a wind  thrashing, a rustle of leaves, freeways — 

gleaning multiple lifetimes in ardent pleasantries; one exists due to the other, there is no return.  only a circling over. a cycling. 

start with an opening. 

iii.  

to remember — 
based off the movement of time.  

/ to be in time / to be on time / to be of time / 

these seasons, weather patterns. there is no humor in my voice, and perhaps i use the word ‘i’  much too frequently. frequenting a profound matter. subject matter. 

spring augury — spring fever, march madness, april cruelty; streets flood. man manning the store forcefully called me sweetie after every sentence —

laughable sentience. 

the streets flooded.  
march 21 
the streets are flooded 
my elocution flares. flairs // execution falls to the wayside  

water churns on the perimeter.

lapse 

matvei yankelevich: “‘you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.’ / 
say, they say, go where your eyes take you. / go on, they say, get.”
home in a geographic circumference 
home in establishment 
home in movement— 
home is away  
home in sway  
home run lap  
home stretch  
away at sea  
to cross a sea 
lap, lap lap  
the shore 
lap the sea  
sea lap 
lapse.

old town station 

(body of the individual used against the individual)  

TAKE THE CIBORIUM  
IN THE CONCRETE TUNNEL  
UNDERGROUND BELOW CEMENT 
DESCENT THE PRAYER IN 
INTO GOD THE TUNNEL — LET GO 
PRAYER IS GOD TAKE OVER 
CALL GOD ALLOW GOD TAKE 
GENUFLECT OVER 
ON THE PISS-STAINED GROUND  
PISS-STAINED GROUND, TILES GOD IS PRAYER 
A MOSAIC OF OVER YOU 
PIECE PISS-CREEK  
PEACE TUNNEL 
PASS INTO LIGHT PISS-REEK TUNNEL 
THE OTHER SIDE THE STORM OF FOUNDING 
A COLONIAL FORMAT.  

THE STORY BEGINS. 
THE STORY ENDS. 

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Born in Kyiv, olga works in the (intersectional/textual) liminal space of photography, word, translation, and installation. She is interested in memory, dream spaces, absences, inheritance, (dis)place, and the construction of language. She cofounded and co-curated Desuetude Press, and is constantly in motion. She is getting her MFA in creative writing at UCSD, and her debut chapbook cities as fathers is available through Tilted House.