Waiting for the future to come full circle so I can say I told you so, Currently, I’m standing in sunshine so bright I can barely open my eyes. And it’s so lovely and warm. On a day like today, it would be awkward And fun to be someone else. At each and every turn, isn’t it refinement That draws us in—the art of saying nothing in vast permutations of logic And chance, smearing meaning thin across time and accountability? Everybody knows, that’s how business grows. You are already too late To say what you meant, I say to myself, so I read out loud to her. Inside the book of art, a girl in a photo holds up a piece of paper that says, ‘The whole world is on fire and the milk from my tits tastes like kerosene.’ She tells me to spit in her mouth for the first time. Only the romantic dies Forever and is, therefore, immortal. Turning back to the book, the artist Says, ‘Hey, can I use these pictures of you in my book?’ and a girl says, ‘I’m only okay with you using that photo if you title it, “the sweetest Tightest most magical pussy that I ate all day everyday for a week Then left it to dry out like a dead cat on the side of the road.”’ No one will ever know or care that I went out searching for hours With a flashlight in the storm, making pass after pass, across the mile Between the barn and home where I stopped, gave up, looked Down, and saw her earring shining through the snow, which is why It’s hard to hear you say I don’t know the first thing about love.
Poetry Competition Second Place 2016