art, fiction

Go Cowboys

Knock knock…

“Hi.”
“Hi”
“What did he say when you came home?”
“Go Cowboys…you left a mark”
“Is it big?”
“No.”
“Did he notice?”
“No.”
“Did she–”
“She called five times in the middle of the night.”
“Oh.”
“Why did we?”
“I don’t know.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“I know”
“I have to go.”
“Why?”
“I have to. I said I was getting coffee.”
“Okay…”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”

 

 
Knock knock…

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art, fiction

How Do You Know if You Love Someone?

One of the most classic and clichéd questions is how to know if you love someone, so, I found myself, drunk with sleeplessness–trying to figure out some reasons, the first and most obvious being,

when I think of this question, I think of you.

If I were stuck as a fish forever, I’d want you to be a mermaid–

When I think of you, it is not a memory. It is a feeling, a touch, a taste, a smell; it is the way my body reacts to the idea of you.

Whenever I see something in a store, my mind tries to find any way to connect it to you, in the hopes that giving it to you might bring you some sort of joy.

I worry about getting drunk–or deliriously tired, and randomly asking you to marry me.

Some songs remind me of you–without ever having heard them before.

When I let my mind wander, it wanders over to you.

The idea of losing you feels like being on the edge of a waterfall–deafeningly loud, standing on a wet, flat stone.

I cannot trust myself to write anymore because love is like falling, and no one ever thinks too clearly when they’re falling.

So, you will just have to stay as a mermaid while I drift off to sleep.

 

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art, poetry

It’s Bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S

I fell in love with a girl named Alice
We loved each other
As one bulimic cannibal
Might love another
(Bulimics are like mailmen
but with food
Cannibals are like mailmen
Who eat other mailmen)
We did all the things
You can only do
When you’re in love
Like read each other poems
And dance in the middle of the street
To no music

Then
When the music stopped
We’d tear holes in each other
With everything
But bullets

Our conversations
Were a cacophony
Of passionate poetic lines
Like “I love her with
A red hot madness”
Or “He fell heavy on my chest
And whispered me the world”
We salted each other
With enough Bukowski-isms
To drown a class
Of teenage girls
In one biblical flood
Of angst filled love

Yet this great tower
Of poetic babel
Was brought down
In a single verse

“Why aren’t you hard?”

A question that
If turned into a weapon
Could slaughter the known universe.
Then came the storm
“Am I not hot enough for you?”
“Don’t you want to fuck me?”
“Get off me, I am going to sleep.”
Then in the morning
Like a paraplegic
Preparing for a walk
I held her close
And kissed her neck
She reached down
And grabbed my penis and balls
All at once
And mashed them together
She laughed
“That’s what I thought”

After a week
She showed me an article
On her phone
It said
“Food for harder erections”
It had a picture of a banana
(A thing that looks like a penis
but you eat it, unless you’re a cannibal
then you eat both)
Half peeled
And said
“A hard man needs a healthy heart.”

“Your heart is weak”
she told me
and that was that
oh well.

 

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art, poetry

This Way to Hell

A man and his fiancée
saw graffiti on a bridge nearby
“THIS WAY TO HELL”
is what it said.
They think I did it.

I wonder why
they’d think
I’d know the way to hell.

One night I saw the man walking.
I followed.
He was on the phone and he was yelling

“NO ONE LOVES YOU BUT ME!
WITHOUT ME YOU’RE NOTHING!”

We passed under the bridge
I followed

curiously.

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fiction

Worship

I found her on the bed in what appeared to be my house.

I said, “What are you thinking about?”

She said, “Why don’t you ever buy new sheets?”

I would chase her around a conversation, but she never thought of me.

It turned out everyone lived in that same house.

I thought of her as a goddess, and believed that if the whole world worshipped her I wouldn’t mind.

In the end, it wasn’t even my bed.

And I did mind.

And it didn’t matter about it not being my bed. I was in trouble all the same.

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