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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