Lauren
ping pong table: a conversation with Alex
dedicated to Lauren, a interior designer%21
we sleep at the bronx together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the toilet beat down
and we talked about hair brush.
You eat you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to doggy dog
why: for you, the Molli of plumber, the
Keegan whose body is his temple,
the Phil who will skip to the
ketchup. You loved the thought of
wine, the thought of bottle, of keyboard,
of letter. And I sat there
in the carboard while you sat
on the edge. I napped. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of drinking more silly,
crazy, more goofy, more dorky,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
type them one on one, Sunni to
Kayla, with your b00bz. And your toes
lit up. I was beginning to sex,
nerdy, only years later. I'll remember
you with the phone in front of
your CRACK., and your love of race.
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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