just the tip
into the fleshlight Jesus
the tip into the fleshlight
Jesus tip into the fleshlight Jesus
tip into fleshlight Jesus
tip into Jesus
into Jesus
into
(originally published in Thirteen Myna Birds, Summer 2019)
just the tip
into the fleshlight Jesus
the tip into the fleshlight
Jesus tip into the fleshlight Jesus
tip into fleshlight Jesus
tip into Jesus
into Jesus
into
(originally published in Thirteen Myna Birds, Summer 2019)
my job? refill your addiction
slam it out
of storage into the office
refrigerator
the mountain stream
having peaked at an earlier age
you say it gives no kick
anymore this lack of sugar
necessary
these
tendencies materialized
into a lifestyle of cool
mixed with limited
not good enough
& such & such
aluminum this life
we recycle daily
in this waterfall
of unlimited pleasure
there must be an end
to any of this. at a certain
point there’s no more
zest there’s no
more
(originally published in Maudlin House, Winter 2019)
I drank yesterday; your socks had cats on them. I’m sorry. I wasn’t strong.
The white and pink and soft. Faces I see them everywhere and they meow
requiems of froth. Ciders on the couch our jeans touching. I get to the point
of confusion but don’t get the point of being confused. I am there. Brainfog
sober room drowning in doused apple and loud television football. Green
green fields. I lived alone in pastures for most of my sadness now it sinks
conjoined. Allow me the pleasure please allow me come home to the bog.
(originally published in Philosophical Idiot, Spring 2019)
When I leave, the heart will still
be the heart: the sandwich-
slapping, table-wiping, cash-
transacting, underpaid workers.
We all try to do the best
we can with what we have.
Broccoli cheddar soup is out
for the night– who am I
kidding? This was how to sell
myself for the smallest amount
possible: part-time work,
no benefits except
the benefit of not being
there more of the time.
(originally published in Northampton Poetry Review, Spring 2019)