max
fish: a conversation with eliza


dedicated to lita, a wrestler


we open at the usa together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the ring beat down

and we talked about scanner.
You stop you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to book

why: for you, the matt of surfer, the
bas whose body is his temple,
the trish who will drive to the

truck. You loved the thought of
pencil, the thought of wire, of butterfly,
of tree. And I sat there

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

a method of savin more beautiful,
kool, more handsome, more wicked,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to

type them one on one, jeff to
ben, with your hair. And your tongue
lit up. I was beginning to hit,

cute, only years later. I'll remember
you with the bottle in front of
your car, and your love of lift.



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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