Author: Jakob Maier

Jakob Maier is a poet and musician from Portland/Tacoma. He can be found on Tumblr and Twitter.

When Thinking of My Body I Am Pulled Into Pieces

I wish the municipal authorities thought of my hands
as more than just replaceable means of production.

I wish my neighbor’s cats thought of my hands
as more than just jealous petting machines.

I wish my long-term girlfriend thought of my hands
not as extensions of me but as a painting’s first draft.

I wish the backyard’s potting soil thought of my hands
as escape routes to the bluer world existing overhead.

I wish everybody on the internet thought of my hands
as they really are: tangible proof of my irl humanity.

I wish approaching storm fronts thought of my hands
as lightning rods towards which to direct their lips.

I wish the whole trembling universe thought of my hands
as acts of war, as objects of destruction, as lovers.

reconsiderations of the relationship between the human and the earth


“there is just one reality” i say to you
sitting on the steps of martyr’s memorial
eating gyoza and watching drunk clubbers
talk of love and other academic trivialities


a drunk man spits on me at sacré cœur
i cry in front of sartre’s grave on a tuesday
the metro is free due to heavy air pollution
living is difficult but there’s no other way


ferris wheel above the flowers
cathedral above the ancient hill
calanque above the mediterranean
never value the human above living soil


half naked near kierkegaard’s grave
i think of mailing you a marguerite
the smallness of his name on the tombstone
makes the atlantic seem a fleeting thing


thinking about human rights during sexual intercourse
and the strangeness of 8 shots of absinthe on fire
i steal a homeless man’s rose, now it’s yours
i am a terrible member of a beautiful species


there is a wedding. people are happy.
hadrian built a wall to protect the empire.
the killers are playing. people are dancing.
around me the rocks crumble. let them expire.


i could write an expansive list
of vaults, castles, and painted faces,
or i could think of underground places
where folks linger, and talk, and kiss.


you must be elsewhere than london.
you must be loving your life in the sun.
these green spaces lack commitment.
i am coming home to you. i am done.