January 30, 2023
After Jeff Foxworthy
If you believe (or at least proclaim unprompted as a defensively justifying rationale) that “love is not a limited resource” . . . you might be polyamorous
If you’re at least slightly ugly and are lowkey hedging your bets for someone better because you’re shallow and don’t know what you want, yet are scared of being hurt, while never actually willing to be vulnerable,
January 24, 2023
Difficult, yes, to live one’s childhood
inside a closet. Men are stray
damage, the sound
of flesh hastening to
an absence in college. One fills
a dress sleeve with a leg,
a dress wrapped in a garbage bag with
flesh and
damaged men. If it is meant,
wings carry water to
the sound of flesh hastening: pinned to
the sleeve of a rippling fabric
popped for divorce.
January 20, 2023
My dream is to own two and a half dozen curly-haired
pigs. That’s not all: I’d also like a Jag, a five-bedroom
country house, and a bag of M&M’s. There, I’ve said it.
As I have none of the above, I live in misery. I think of
nothing but of doing myself in.
My professor Sequoia Takamatsu insists we be nice.
She asks if I agree.
January 10, 2023
Entering the morning like a slaughterhouse, leaving all the
teeth and fingers. Guts all over your floor. You told me once
that nobody loves anybody and I didn’t believe you. You’re gone
now. Elsewhere is the word. Suicide is on the morning as I eat it.
You were god-perfect when I met you, flakes of heavensky
in your highlights when I couldn’t have you.