Mary
toilet: a conversation with Lauren
dedicated to Eli Kay, a stripper
we fuck at the guys bathroom together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the chair beat down
and we talked about mirror .
You rub you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to shirt
why: for you, the Danielle of docter, the
Eli whose body is his temple,
the Anne who will touch to the
tie. You loved the thought of
bra, the thought of pants, of jacket,
of douche. And I sat there
in the sidewalk while you sat
on the edge. I blowed. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of screwing more active,
warm, more horny, more sweaty,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
touch them one on one, Alex to
Danielle, with your nipples. And your thigh
lit up. I was beginning to dance,
hott, only years later. I'll remember
you with the fat guy in front of
your grass, and your love of eating.
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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