back at the convent,

the gang is all here 
jack sofia katya simone
names that will inevitably 
need to be changed

we carry blotchy linens
from room to unmade room
push soap around the
bottom of cracked porcelain basins
sulfur rises from warmed-up pipes
fills the room with roses

sofia continues to write her thesis
desire is not about lack 
as suggested by lacan 
but more like an active seeking
and weaves in more than wanting

too much salt in the butter 
in the sausages and comté
but more than enough water
to wash it all down

lunch in the sun with sofa cats
another working group 
on poetics, mystics,
revolutionary imaginations

a copy of gramsci’s prison notebooks
sciences par excellence
stacked and unopened

nick finds significance in dreams
facilitates a circle for sharing 
a dance of opacity and revelation
an anthology of social commonalities

a wire fence around the spring flowers
prevents the chickens from scratching 
and eating the newly sewn seeds
misaligns in every way
with the garden concept of beauty
set out in the winter months

clémentine conceals her ability 
to fix dripping faucets
as not to be roped into another task
and advises against using chemical cleaners
in the clogged pipes of eric’s corridor 

the media room smells like kebab cabbage
we check behind chairs and lift cushions
have you thought about the vhs tapes
suggests sofia and looks up the possibility 

can we prefigure our way into liberation
is this what david calls direct action
is this the defiant resistance 
the quotidian of social reproduction
will never be enough 
but if we come from all sides like diane suggests

one of the chickens dies 
we roast her with potatoes in the oven
and rosemary from the garden
someone objects to the brutality, too close
and someone plays drums in the basement

Steph Joyce is an artist and writer working in Berlin.