Poem in Which A Girl Strays Beyond the Course Material

beyond the course material, the girl would ask the lecturers
how they dress in the mornings whilst
holding the threads
that pull rugs from her feet

at the appointed time
they spit rivulets of Colgate
carving fragile faultlines in the sink:
between criticality
and complicity

she is dawdling on the edge of the course material,
a coarseness leaking over and out

beyond the course material
is the £5 curry bought before the screening*
menu scrawled in the same font as Zero Books publications

beyond the course material
is the honeydew melon bought after the screening
because the white girl wants a sweet escape
without the waistline, purchased in that immaterial safety net:
mohair weave of academic loan

the smize in bakery windows
of a hyped up Marie Antoinette

students complicit
in a circus of suspension
This essay requires:
a tightrope over reality
3cm margins fit for misprision
a carving knife ripe for the carcass
any carcass – please
keep privilege to footnotes,
and submit one myopic sliver
cured & over-seasoned by the end of the week

.                                                         today the tarpaulin revolution
.                                                   folded in                    on itself; the commons
.                                                           collapsed inwards. something
.                                        cellular;                 rhizome in         reverse. fears
.                                               about poetry with an appetite of capital;
.                                                                                                  eating up everything
.                                                                                                            bulimic and gleaming

but on bright mornings splayed on the horizon
& autumn leaves bleed out to our feet
you think maybe words are resistance,
like the commons as sites of oppression
made fertile mud for revolt

the mud that cloys and chokes
is also the sludge that spews life

she is dangerously close to that primordial swamp
it is uttering something inaudible, dumb
back in GMT she tames the only hyper– that’s real
feral –sensitivity passing for grades

on unmarkable days of decreation
it seems a poem is the best of a bad bunch
and a garden
the greatest violence of all

Daisy Lafarge

* A film in which a white man tells Congolese workers to capitalise on poverty, which
provides their greatest source of income. Malnourished children dance around the neon
sneer of Text Art installed in their village that reads: ENJOY POVERTY

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