Oh%2C fuck off you baka%21
ass: a conversation with jackie


dedicated to jacob, a slut


we suck at the asshole together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the toilet beat down

and we talked about poop.
You fuck you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to yoga

why: for you, the brad pitt of whore, the
ron whose body is his temple,
the josh cain who will fuck to the

dick. You loved the thought of
dick, the thought of breast, of asshole,
of bed. And I sat there

in the fart while you sat
on the edge. I fingered. Then it
occurred to me: you would want

a method of blowing more wet,
long, more elongated, more hard,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to

lick them one on one, cecilia to
daniel, with your breasts. And your testicles
lit up. I was beginning to suck,

long, only years later. I'll remember
you with the vagina in front of
your poop, and your love of thrust.



poam: a conversation with Jimbo Breen


dedicated to Steve, a marine

we sat at the poolside together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the sun beat down

and we talked about nuclear war.
You said you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to understand

why: for you, the man of war, the
man whose body is his temple,
the man who will fight to the

death. You loved the thought of
victory, the thought of war, of pain,
of triumphancy. And I sat there

in the swimming pool while you sat
on the edge. I paused. Then it
occurred to me: you would want

a method of fighting more direct,
slower, more painful, more personal,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to

fight them one on one, man to
man, with your fists. And your eyes
lit up. I was beginning to understand,

now, only years later. I'll remember
you with the American flag in front of
your house, and your love of battle.

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