Monday, February 12, 2018

[Sonnet] You jerk you didn't call me up

[Sonnet] You jerk you didn't call me up 

by Bernadette Mayer


You jerk you didn't call me up
I haven't seen you in so long
You probably have a fucking tan
& besides that instead of making love tonight
You're drinking your parents to the airport
I'm through with you bourgeois boys
All you ever do is go back to ancestral comforts
Only money can get—even Catullus was rich but

Nowadays you guys settle for a couch
By a soporific color cable t.v. set
Instead of any arc of love, no wonder
The G.I. Joe team blows it every other time

Wake up! It's the middle of the night
You can either make love or die at the hands of the Cobra Commander


To make love, turn to page 121.
To die, turn to page 172.

reposted from the Poetry Foundation

Friday, February 9, 2018



by Therese Lloyd 

When I was “in despair” (the dark days
when I actually used such terms)
I noticed the behavior of animals — 
              sleep when tired, eat when hungry
That made a lot of sense to me
and yet I felt different
              I felt my humanness too much
No fly ever wonders whether it should make
lots and lots of maggots
              It gives birth on a mound of cat food
or inside the rubbish bin
As far as I know
it’s not worried about overpopulation
or what sort of environment its kids
              will grow up in
My humanness sees me at an art gallery
              watching others
                            watching walls
My humanness gives me dark thoughts
of cruel behavior
              You are in the States
a visa glitch and there you remain
              Like Star Trek, I talk to you on a screen
              your face half a second out of sync
with your speech
              I’m in the future
              my Tuesday is already over
and I want to tell you all about it
              to prove my superiority
That lovely conceit of time
              that saw people travel from all over the world
to be in Gisborne
              for the first sunrise
                            of the new millennium
how we all thought the sewer pipes would burst
              and the criminals would escape
              or something like that
                            Y2K packs sent to every household
                            because no one knew for certain
                            what the numbers 2000 really meant
              Somewhere, people, important people
                            cowered in bunkers
                                          fearing the worst
Source: Poetry (February 2018)

Monday, November 27, 2017


by Rebecca Hazelton 

Behind dark glasses I am enormously present
                                      wading in a pool of flickering light
                          algal at the edges
                                                like a sick green dream of California

where dragonflies dip and skim
       the surface of the lightly poisoned water
                                                         some of them
                                      coupling on the fly
                   as if sex wasn’t already awkward

when I fuck I hardly levitate at all
                                  and when I dive
                             beneath the water
       I want to be detached

from the searing world above but how
                                                does one stop caring

when there are so many
                     voices calling
                          where are you where are you
                   come up there are snacks

so I swim back
                          to frozen grapes and lemonade
                   to the teenaged boys strolling by
                          with fishing poles and bait

while the young girls spin
                 on tire swings and scream to go faster
as if there was some shortage in the world
                          of speed or disaster

originally published on Typo Magazine