Art

You Might Be Polyamorous – Big Bruiser Dope Boy

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,

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Art

Now We Can Start a Family – Cassie Vogel

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.

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Art

Weimaraner Owners Worldwide – David Lohrey

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.

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Art

November 23 2007, Again – Cash Compson

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.

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