My girlfriend and I are regulars at the gas station closest to us. It's really the only late night option for water or a snack. So we ride our bikes through the bayou to see our favorite late night employee, Jo. Jo is probably 43. She wears her hair like a pro wrestler from the ‘80s. She drives a green station wagon filled with stuffed animals. The stuffed animals are arranged in the passenger side seat and backseat and are even hanging from the rearview mirror. She has them in some kind of order, with the biggest in the back/center and the smaller ones arranged around them, like a bouquet. It's really beautiful.
My name is Xjdwliuerowuieriowueriuouoieuwoiruo, and I am bored of the spinning fields. Bored of the nowhere between nothing and the grasp of the planets my mother’s armies colonized for me to learn the face of death from. I have been alive for my whole life and no longer wish to be so easy to impress. I want a new doll with a new face that I can erase forever and still remember the next day.
My grandfather was twenty-six and poor, staring at his crossword puzzle in line at the fish market. He was staring at the empty squares for 32-Across when she entered through the wooden doors. The locals from Trenčín knew her as the conscientious drunk driver, the widow who drove around the village with her hazards on.
Sept. 11, 2016
Walking around the city
Hoping I don’t see
Anyone I know, old
Air conditioner water
Coming down on 14th Street
Overcast, high of 88, wires
Connected to a head
On Mott, a scab
The shape of Queens
I feel anxious writing a poem to be read at a wedding
because I don’t want to disappoint.
My poetry usually isn’t appropriate for weddings, I think.
My poetry is usually troubling and desperate and bleak.