to become so beautiful that pictures of myself
fill me with a moment of involuntary hatred
to sculpt my body with the chisel of sweat and self-abasement
to make of my perfect quiff a piggy bank
for to keep the patina’d copper pennies of time I could have spent on making poems
could have spent on making love but spent instead on making myself
a different self a useless self that sits on a shelf looking beautiful
to swagger so hard that the world swaggers with me
to drag the depths of swagger and find some forgotten bauble to call my own.
to suck swagger through a straw from all the way down the block
a swagger so thick it gaunts my cheeks to suck it
to be the billion-dollar remake of my father.
to remember his beard and his hard face his thrift store clothes
and think yeah that was good but what if
it had more CGI explosions what if it had more tits
to dole out drips of clickable wisdom
one hashtag at a time: tips for living your crispiest life
to discover something bloodier than diamonds
and discover something more than an arm and leg to charge for it.
to bathe in champagne or the blood of the innocent there is no difference
when you know you’re on your grind—when you’re really killing it
John Wayne was gay
for one man: Uncle Sam.
Their turbulent affair spanned several decades,
until John Wayne’s death. He died in Sam’s arms.
If John Wayne went a day
without riding, his horse
would cry in the bathroom, wonder
what it did wrong.
Uncle Sam would later describe
John Wayne as “the one
that got away, heh” before turning
his face from the camera and ending the interview.
John Wayne owned an Arby’s franchise
for over 30 years, but would never
say which one: he wanted it to stand
on its own merits.
John Wayne wore special shoes
not because his feet were freakishly tiny
but because they were made of antimatter
and could kill us all if not contained.
This also explains
The Duke’s signature walk:
he had the full fury of the unknown universe
exploding underneath his every step
John Wayne did kegel exercises
24/7. That weird cadence to his speech?
Between each word, he was flexing
his pelvic floor.
and you’re pretty sure you’ve seen it around so you click confirm
but when you finally see it at the bar that night with some mutual friends
you realize that you really only recognized The Apocalypse
from photos these friends had posted that you had only ever seen it
around your news feed and does that count as Knowing Each Other?
This becomes the humorous facet of modern life
that you and The Apocalypse start a conversation over.
So now it doesn’t matter. But this isn’t funny enough as an anecdote
about how you and The Apocalypse met to get this story told.
As far as anyone knows you and The Apocalypse have always been friends
and soon you realize it has been a very long time since anyone has asked you
How do you two know each other?
and soon you realize it has been a very long time since anyone has asked anyone
How do you two know each other?
and soon you realize it has been a very long time
The left lens of her drugstore clubmasters is cracked
the fire’s reflection flickers in the other
and she attempts an expression of seductive concern
or concerned seduction
one eyebrow more wistful than the other
the sunlight over her strawberry-blonde left shoulder
has just begun to filter through the ash in the atmosphere
to take on that gray-green tint that will become so familiar
in the coming days that will come to characterize
what few photographs there are left to be taken
The wind outside sounds like the ocean. I am a sodden mess of bed sheets those hours later. I am you:
(always) the hypothetical self-harmer seeping between mind rivers, a husk, a cold and empty shell- a hand tracing the line between doubt and death. A skull of blood, a glass of juice. Making love to the self since birth, recharging with a stream, swimming in self, sensibility.
An organ worth throbbing for.
Men on the street tell me they want to eat me. This no longer cripples me in the moment- but I am still taken down trying to buy clothes, I am crying about our bodies then, in a mall dressing-room. I am rending wrists into ecstasy that explodes us into searing pain, a light worth breaking bone for, the jagged openings between shadows on an empty beach, the
swearing into of new skin.
I am growing into a hugeness that overcomes itself into a wet and careful deepness. My brain swells against the sun as I am being watched.
I am thirsty for god and so I drive to McDonald’s. It turns out Salt is not enough.
Life is not either.
i am a swell and heave. oceans. fuck. water is never the right word. i am a fierce and angry. i am an oh. i will bring you to the brink with moan. hear me through the walls and floor and press yourself against the unseen. hail that hurts. a battered back and the undersides of
i am unto, into
remembering, filling with blood. growing. moving up into a tree. a sky. a fuck-all cut open. screaming from
we will all become agonies, leaving our floors behind. our legs and feet will go numb.
i will cry with both eyes and a mouth open. in this
we will all become unreal.
i know you can see me and hear me through the window. when it was over, yesterday and in the just-morning (mourning), you raised yourself against the glass and pressed up a hand. i almost saw your mouth move through the two panes and the air in-between.
i forget each time i am not alone. i forget each time i am alone. i have found the meaning and roll into and around it. i am a tongue around lips, i am
a special kind of curl, a hardly forced
there is nothing ever as low as the fall then, after.
there is nothing ever like a woman in the sea.
this is dark water that turns almost to dust.
this is a coming into