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Picture
Picture
Picture
Waiting room
somewhere a neon sign must’ve been screaming
good morning
it was just so loud outside
our bodies, a football field
a lot of misplaced blades of grass
all wet
mostly everywhere
all over our shoes even
all over our towels
grains of sand too
deep under our feet
and in-between cracks
alongside the sidewalk
that’s where they found us
the sun still rising
fresh in the dew
just like a couple of stupid babies
not even sure what the score was
looking around for a sign
in the right direction


I slept so many days before this moment
now I’m too awake in the morning light
I greet the sun and then the sun blinds me
have you heard of tears
they have been in the news lately
they’re on the tip of everyone’s tongue
people can’t stop talking about them
what they’re doing
what they mean when they say what they say
how they fall and in what degree
with how much frequency
with how much ferocity
everyone is curious
everyone wants to know


it’s hard sometimes to know what it is you really need
to know why it is
that you want what you want


I wanted a mountain cut into a hillside
I wanted a cabin in the woods
just waiting to burn down
chock-full of Christmas stockings
with our names written all over ‘em

I didn’t want to know how it was
how exactly we would get there
we’ve collectively decided that we’re over origin stories
they had a nice run
but it doesn’t matter anymore
we’re no longer interested
in how we got here
or where exactly it is
that we are headed
all we have left now is the present
it’s us, here
on the side of this road


I am strong enough to tell myself
that I would rather be somewhere else
pouring gallons of bottled water
all over your naked torso
somewhere other than here
something a little warmer
than just this hot dawn


sometimes total displacement
can be what it takes
late in the night with the windows all open
and I’m rife with imagining
one hundred people
all entering my room
at exactly the same time
all of them from different moments in my life
and all of them eager to catch up


how have you been
what are you doing
what have we missed
what’s coming up next
should we stick around
or is it just another repeat
​

when I finally build up the courage
to turn off the television
and give the screen a hard stare
all I can see
is everyone else
looking back

Hot nerd heaven

obsessed with butts and killing time,
I drink my sixth cup of coffee before falling
into hot nerd heaven

where the hours waste away into come-stained sweatpants
where glasses slide down dripping faces
and onto hardwood bedroom floors

littered as they are with shattered Pez dispensers
with fingernail clippings and flashdrives
filled with fetish porn

and hanging from the rafters
on the cable of an N64 controller:
it’s my total lightbulb moment

it illuminates a room devoid of mirrors
but forever lousy
with casual snacks

I let the dogs out

I love you so much that
I’m going to train wild
and vicious dogs to
pronounce one syllable
each of a love poem that
I’m gonna write for you,
and it’s gonna be the
first poem you ever read.
You’re gonna hear it when
they bark it at you, one
syllable at a time, right
after they tear up your
favorite couch with their
teeth and with their paws.
Their paws are sharp
because they’re wild,
vicious dogs. They don’t
know no better. What you
do with the dogs is up to
you, I’m not gonna want
them anymore after they
profess my love for you.
I’ll be too embarrassed
to feed them or to wash
them or play with them
or take them outside to
shit. They’re all yours.
But if you need a new couch,
you can come over to my
house and use mine if you
want, I guess, if you feel
like it. Just don’t bring
those dogs. I don’t want
to see them ever again.



Permanent staycation

Baby, let’s take a permanent staycation
in each other’s arms. Pronto. You know
the deal, you know it when you hear
the microwave door close. I’m making
popcorn. Butter Lovers. I’m gonna
finger every kernel into your trap
while you’re sitting in my lap because
power dynamics are really sexy. We’re
gonna be a couple of slavery tourists,
baby, and we don’t even have to go
to a resort. We can stay here, on this
couch. We can die together on this
couch. But before we die, you know
what would be really sexy? If while I’m
fingering buttery hot popcorn into
your mouth, you talked on the phone
with your best friends like I wasn’t even
there. I would have to wait for the
times in conversation when you
weren’t speaking to masterfully drop
the popcorn, one kernel at a time,
in-between your sweet-ass lips. I love
your lips, baby. And I love them on you,
especially when you’re flapping your
jaw because you’re hungry and
pretending like I’m not even there. And
then, when you’re done talking? We’re
gonna take it to the bedroom. But we
ain’t even gotta get naked. That’s what’s
so beautiful about us, baby. You’ll try on
all the outfits I ask you to. Like try this
outfit on, baby. See if you like it. God,
you look so hot in that. Now try this one.
You like that? Now how about this one.
Now try this one. Now this one. Now this
one. Now this one. Damn, baby, I’m
getting tired. You ready to die yet?

Hot dog

meet me at the measles party
I’ll be the one wearing kid gloves
carrying a poster in homage to the hot dog joint
that’s closed down since when we ate there

I imagined mustard
caked
in your carefully curated mustache
and ended up underwhelmed
by your zealous use
of napkins

in the dead of night
fires are blazing
somewhere
on some distant beach

and in the light of day
text messages are being sent
from the waiting rooms
of clinics

and when I picture us,
I picture us

we’re shooting music videos in those clinics
and we’re driving to those beaches
and the canyons are behind us
and the wind is in our hair
and in the light of day
our sunglasses
are smudged with mustard
​

when I picture us,
we’re eating hot dogs
in my beat-down elementary school
fires blazing
in the dead of night
Picture
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  • HOME
  • WINTER 2022 ISSUE
  • SUBMISSIONS
    • Submission Form
  • ABOUT
  • LITTLE BLACK BOOK
    • A NOTE FROM THE EDITORS
  • SHOP