Ariana Reines

  • slant September 17, 2020


    No actually the first word emerged

    Deep in the bowels of the human throat

    & forged in loathing & envy, has now attained majority

    & like a Christ is rising, gagging, pointing to its second wound

    The better to distract me

    All my life you’ve taught me to mourn the son

    Nevermind that this isn’t even my religion

    Then after stealing my children you hacked

    Away my reproductive organs

    You never believed me capable of grief

    On behalf of my own immensity

    And caused to orbit all about my head the mouths

    Of those white women rich enough to fatten

    Their lips with silicone.  And bade them shape

    Woken syllables on the

  • slant August 20, 2020


    Does all evil emanate from a single source?

    And do the hundred thousand elaborations of bad

    Over which puritans and pundits fight it out on the crust

    Of the earth correlate to the lack of spiritual and political

    Foundation that would make it easy to see the Marxist reality

    That the corporate and billionaire class is what’s really got to go?

    That my racism and yours, our failure to love, are masquerading

    As things that’re wrong with you & me when we’re just walking symptoms

    Of the structural reality into which trees, poems, tears & miracles

    Introduce a rending, streaming, higher truth, a better flow, the

  • slant July 20, 2020

    Poppy and Recollection

    “I didn’t think it was physically possible, but this both sucks AND blows.” —Bart Simpson

    THE VIRUS BROUGHT STRANGE BEDFELLOWS, but then again so did the uprising. You didn’t love the smell of your own breath behind your mask. Neither did you love certain things about yourself that had formerly been easier to escape.

    Confinement led to masses of people finally catching the thought: human beings should not be put in cages. Instagram became a pedagogical tool, rather than merely the matrix of DIY propaganda. Then it slid back. “For Israel slideth back as a backsliding heifer.” So it says in the Book

  • slant June 20, 2020


    I’LL WRITE THE HYPOSTASIS OF BECKY AND KAREN, I thought, but then a stalker showed up at my house, and I was overworked, but I had to deal with that, and think on things I never think on, for example my own safety, for example my own protection. Zoom swelled like a buboe and popped. The stalker had driven from Michigan to deliver a mug to me, he said, to thank me for having written my last book, showed up on my back porch and wouldn’t leave. 

    I can’t write about the fact that the partner of a new student of mine was shot by white supremacists four days ago. I thought I might manage to write about

  • slant May 22, 2020

    School Spirit

    for Timea Szell

    “Jabès and Semprún both said that language was their only homeland [....] Why is it so difficult to be alive to what happens?” - Paul B. Preciado, An Apartment on Uranus


    The first time I heard a mourning dove

    I thought it was an owl

    The first bunny I ever saw

    Was hidden in a bed

    I think it was a bed of “Impatiens

    A word shaped like my grandmother’s hands

    But is there such a thing as a bed of “Impatiens

    Or else it was it a bed of pansies

    The sound of the owl had a smell, I thought

    I mean I thought that what I smelled

    When the mourning dove moaned

    Which I thought was an owl

    Was the scent of

  • slant April 22, 2020

    Reborn AgaIn

    IT IS EARTH DAY, and at the New Moon in Taurus tonight, the Sun and Moon will be in a wide conjunction with Uranus, about whose tenure in Taurus I have written a lot, over the past few years, for this publication.

    I am thinking about the phrase “enriched Uranium” and about true wealth, true value. I am thinking about Venus, who rules Taurus, about Ferdinand the Bull, about the sensuality of moving slow and steady, and about the full moon in Scorpio May 7, a day I hope to write you more fully.

    I warned you last month that I would deprofessionalize and that the way I write was likely to change.


  • slant March 23, 2020

    Our Crown

    “ALL OF HUMANITY’S PROBLEMS stem from man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone,” wrote Blaise Pascal, but it is the peculiar trick of his—will it do anymore to call it “Occidental”?—culture, whose principles and values have crept in everywhere, to make it seem as though it invented the idea that any of us belong in a room alone ever, for any reason. 

    Yet here we are, living out the apotheosis of that. And whether we’re in the room alone or not, the psychological task, the spiritual task has been universalized. In order to handle it, the luckiest among us—those of us who are staring down

  • slant February 14, 2020


    I WAS IN LOVE WITH TWO PEOPLE and I had traveled to their country to be near them. 

    I already had a lover, with whom I had been suffering a disappointment, and I had just completed a large and demanding work of art, so in many ways I no longer knew who or what I was, or what good I could possibly be to anybody. 

    I am only telling you these things, and in such a dispassionate way, because I want to tell you about a dream I had, in which my great-grandfather appeared, and his many progeny—

    But the dream won’t make sense unless you know I had traveled a great distance to be near these people, that

  • slant January 10, 2020


    Sometimes I think this entire culture five thousand years was just a rehearsal for the wrong apocalypse

    Our original owners siphoned up an energy from colonized doomsday preachers

    Whose own religion, a strange affair of a flame language incantations leather straps 

    Amulets camels & tents

    Must have seemed a bizarre perversion to the successful, to worshippers of gods

    Some will tell you the alphabet was a secret math

    Some will say our speech was a bovine eructation

    A kind of polluting fertilization

    Ferreting out of the air

    A weird palazzo of the air

    An edifice of clouds and hierarchies of heaven


  • slant December 31, 2019

    Alchemy Forever


    I had an experience of a country

    Which is a place on planet Earth

    Of wild beauty to which no word in the English language

    Can accurately be appended. It was a romance

    That I was taken into, which made me wild and humbled me beyond all speech

    A legend that grew into facts, ravages of ravages

    I doubt I ever will be able to speak to

    I knelt in love, I crawled for love, I too had had dreams of revolution

    But I would not pretend to powers

    That lord and lady I lacked

    There are histories of magic speech

    That should not be written down




    Look: I was a woman with a problem

    I did not come all this way to deceive

  • slant November 01, 2019

    Lightning Rods

    IT’S THE SEASON OF FIRE, but you don’t need me to tell you that. It’s the season of electric, abyssal love, but you know that too. Since the sun’s ingress into Scorpio hit the Promethean lightning of the New Moon opposite Uranus in Taurus, the pit has opened, and the yawning abyss of true democracy beckons like a confusing form of lust. You can feel it pulling on you, like gravity itself. As things collapse we will be able to right some things while others, like what has happened—for now—to the bright career of Katie Hill, will be temporarily, and apparently, very wrong.

    Imagine yourself as Alice.

  • slant October 24, 2018



    after the rain hit

    the creosote the sun

    hit it & a fragrance

    wild & sweet was hitting

    me, a springtime

    sensation of rising seed

    confusing the seasons

    undoing the doom i clasp

    & unclasp like the warm

    gem in the keats poem

    but this was not the prescription

    you asked for

    & the moon is full

    not new. i came to truth or

    consequences for my

    own safety. i had passed

    thru the doors of bellevue

    under the sign “EMPLOYES” (sic.)

    to face my parent

    in donated shoes, without

    her wig, clothed in hospital

    issue pajamas & all her illusions

    scummy, like an old fish

    cooked to death