Author: Leah Clancy

Leah Clancy is what happens when a Peter and a Diane have a firstborn. She's a Buffalo native, NYU grad, freelance writer, MFA candidate in the Creative Writing Program at CalArts, and a professional redhead. She's a cofounder of the online arts publication Potluck Mag, and she's been published in The CalArts Eye, In-Flight Magazine, Revolver, and definitely not The New Yorker.

EXISTENTIAL ISIS

it’s 10 o’clock, do you know where
you are heading
in the grand scheme of things?
god is another, shorter
word for death

your head
is that shape
that I just don’t like

I’m getting into the habit
of replacing the word “bitch” in every rap song
with the word “please”

oh my god
what do you think about
the absence of
pronouns and articles?

well, you know what they say—
just another sequin in the vest of life
it’s 11:11, make a death wish
please, you so basic, you must be a minimalist

oh my death, this must be god
65 million
almond milk lattes
after midnight
couldn’t bring me back to you

ON A SCALE OF ONE TO ONE

I’m like a fake flower—I don’t make any sense.
I am perpetually happy that most of the rest of my life is a Dress Down Day.
I’m going to ask my parents for Ambien for Christmas.
I really fucked up someone’s bathrobe today. Don’t ask for details.
I want to ruffle you like feathers;
I want to rattle you like change.
I’m going to ask my parents for Lithium for Christmas.
I can’t marry you, stranger, until you ask me to.
I thought I found a lost dog,
but he wasn’t lost,
he was just a dog,
and now I miss him.
I want to marry a man who rides a motorcycle in worn, brown leather penny loafers and no socks.

I just saved my worst nightmare to my desktop.

ANGELES

here is a friendly reminder
that we are all living within a system
and it is broken. bury me in the plant section
of IKEA. “money isn’t real” says
my conscience, which sounds like Sally
Field recorded on an underwater microphone
If you can’t remember a really good dream that you had,
that means you didn’t deserve it. from now on,
always be enthusiastic in order to hide the fact
that we are all
dying on the inside

CALL FOR SUB MISSIONS

are you a multi-ethnic,
tattooed
20-something
with a dog?
good news!
we’re getting married

I remember thinking,
days or months ago,
that an intangible,
abstract element of my life
was very ‘vertical’
but now
I can’t remember
what or why

there is no such thing
as extra credit
in this
great spelling test
of life
but that isn’t going to stop me
from trying to get
those sweet, sweet
fucking succulent
bonus points

want to know who I am
texting with?
right you are, it’s
that
one guy

THE POEMS FORMERLY KNOWN AS PRINCE

 
I STOP TO GET A TANK OF GAS AND THE MOON IS HUGE

I would die 4 U
croons Prince in a gas station
but he does not know
you make me capable—
able 2 come back 2 life
 
 
 
 
FIVE-AND-DIME, TOP OF THE LINE

Cranberry beret
the kind you’d find at thrift stores
can’t cover me like
how i’d cover you—rent free—
the very best roof of your life
 
 
 
 
OFFICIAL VERSION

purple rain, purple
rain recorded live on stage
if they heard you laugh
prince and the revolution
would break right down, start to cry

THAT FLOE

here I am, movin’ like ice in July
hand so tense from clutchin’ that game

here I am, passing through town like light passes through a prism
bitch, you so basic, you must be a minimalist

don’t need to be beautiful to recognize beauty
my day’s like my bed—consider it made