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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