Jessica
picture: a conversation with alexis
dedicated to kaylee, a graphic arrt designer
we thrusting at the the beach together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the balloon beat down
and we talked about book.
You float you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to glass
why: for you, the Jessica of flight atendant, the
casey whose body is his temple,
the Richie who will swim to the
blow dryer. You loved the thought of
miror, the thought of toaster oven, of car,
of wall. And I sat there
in the mouse while you sat
on the edge. I showered. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of loving more long,
gothic, more pink, more pretty,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
smell them one on one, doug to
derek, with your fingers. And your boobs
lit up. I was beginning to shaving,
hard, only years later. I'll remember
you with the speaker in front of
your computer, and your love of drinking.
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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