Month: November 2017

Where You Might Have Been When They Took Their Last Breaths

You think: Where was I when all these dead were dying, dropping off and piling up? Andy C. you knew since sporting chains in junior high. Slit the back of a Fentanyl patch to get at the inside. Time released all at once. Maybe you were tapping after snapping a vial, copped from a girl whose guy got slick, swiped some boxes from a truck. Around the time the towers came down, because you were still living in The Bricks, and despite the nights’ new elevations you’d only begun to get the taste. Amanda K. and Josh P., lingering...

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My Inner Child is an Erasure of The Little Mermaid, According to EMDR

and my addiction workbook. I learn that the most entrancing kind of mermaid is fish above the waist because no one can hear her speak. I pray through cavewater-filtered sunlight for someone to rescue me from my father and I almost become a real girl myself— It happens when I see a man opportunistically shipwrecking; I return his body to the same shore he started from and renounce my entire sea. When the time comes I will steal back my own voice just to tell the lover all about my love, thus become fully real girl, become no-fish-at-all girl—...

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The Dissertation is a Quest that has No Idea

The point, you told me, is the question not the answer but I wasn’t listening, too busy hanging over the side of the bed to see if I could get that tingling feeling in my head and you put your hand on my stomach to get my attention but I was seeing stars and your hand was warm as cups of tea and sometime all I want is for you to keep touching my skin but you got distracted by some thought that wasn’t me and took your hand away, started talking about the structure of arguments and I...

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Hawthorne

Evening already lowering itself behind the cross-hatched boards of the fence, camelias stippling the pebbled yard—bright clumps of pink pressed between piles of dog shit—& the voices of our neighbors who alternate fighting & fucking carry: my own pendulum swings: gratitude/envy—I aim for part-time happiness—the sun’s slippage—no one on this street gets it all to themselves—my slice of it slanting through slats in a fence I am not responsible for erecting. My choice comes down to whether to leave parted the curtains, the window jutting open to deep evening sounds of dog bark & mellow: someone’s getting some- one...

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All of the Drive-In Theaters Are Dead

When you tickle my torso with the scalpel, it feels like the Misfits’ Last Caress: you pull away skin, reveal the promise to tear my nerves and twine them around your fingers, taut as friendship bracelets I used to make in middle school. You were taught how to be a man, how to hum like Patrick Bateman but with better music. I swallow, pretend I understand this: sexual revolution is a 1980s slasher movie poster, and I’m stuck out of time, waiting for the next Scream sequel, out of time, holding your left hand, out side by side I...

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