Poems by Laura Thule
the fantast
ONE
the dreamer
the desiring machine
delueze met guttari at the laundromat
for inspiration, just something guttural
to watch those old machines purr
TWO
it was the fantast
with the death drive
who liked to drive fast
in the left lane
who one night went home
to find her ex man
in the drive way
beside his fast car
the smell of chain smoke
the smell of whiskey
she made him hot tea
THREE
she made him beg
he made her shudder
what is a desiring machine
in what context does the sex become political
delueze said the body is made of parts
that fit together with one another
and schizophrenia is the state of man
no oedipus no penis
envy
FOUR
as for the psychoanalyst
he repeated this is not a confessional
(this is not a confessional)
i can never offer you forgiveness
she told him that she told him not to cry
when he cried and of the times he said
i hate you
sotto vcce
like a frightened child
FOUR (PART II)
she only cried when it was night
beneath the reds and bright yellows
and pulsing purple strobes from the dark lights
at the underground raves
when she was thinking of the nineties
it had been some time
now she had flashbacks in the rain
and remembered saying ecstasy had saved her life
she should have never read deleuze and guttari
she should have never understood
the desiring machine
FIVE
…and then i came to
in aisle number five
shattered glass and
red sauce splattered
was i alright? was i alright?
i blinked, the way the low evening sun
throws shadows
long
as
time
it still happens now
and then, i wake up like this
in the evening
hours facing towards life
or in the parking lot, with a cart full
of home goods, unsure which car is mine
this risk of schizophrenia
the belt loose in the desiring machine
…no. no. no.
…its fine;
FINAL EXAM
has this happened to you?
can we talk about it?
theGesturalist 
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