Bad Jacket Issue 12 by Bad Jacket

ISSUE 12

Letter from the editors, Hunny, we’ve been together so long now maybe I don’t know you anymore. You’ve replaced half your cells already so I better start getting to know the new you... again. Let’s get personal. I’ve loved you since day one, baby, and it’s always been just like that. But who are you today? You know--what’s going on? Do you still like stag beer? Do you still binge on blow twice a year? Are you still learning something new? I’m different too. I only wish I could explain it. You’re a part of me now because we’ve gotten so close, sometimes I forget where you begin and I end. I love your letters and sketches and the tattoo you gave me last fall. I accept the future, even if it takes us apart. I won’t be afraid. You’ll always be under my skin, even if it is paper thin. Vulnerably, Bad Jacket

TO SUBMIT TO BAD JACKET SEND YOUR WORK TO BADJACKET94@ GMAIL.COM This magazine costs ~$7 Brought to you with love by editors Katryn Dierksen, Hart L’ecuyer, and Oscar Reed Wright. Unforgettable contributions by the collective, including (but not limited to) Daniel W. Wright, Frances Garren, Chris Zuver, Zoë Scala, RC Patterson, Ben Luczak, Jacob L.E. Oliver and Clara Stone. Cover photography by Tiffany Sutton

TABLE OF CONTENTS Bekah Fischar............................1, 27, 41, 47 C.J. Hugh.....................................3, 43, 45 Kee Archambault.............................3, 32, 44 Simone Sparks and Creepy Crow Taxidermy......4, 11, 52 Erin Morris ...........................5, 39, 51 Cierra Lowe.........................................6 Tiffany Sutton......................................7 Dani Skye...........................................9 Kurt Zuver.................................12, 22, 38 Zoe Scala.....................................13, 26 Natalie Smith.................................14, 17 Cory Perkins..................................15, 29 Sean Arnold...................................18, 46 Matthew Freeman .................................21 Hart Lâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ecuyer......................................23 Frances Garren.....................................31 Sister Wizzard.....................................33 Emma Bright....................................33, 37 Kyle Wilson........................................40 Bobby Stevens......................................49 Joe Bryant........................................50

photo: Bekah Fischer

It was nothing like the ocean C.J. Hugh It was nothing like the ocean. “They” describe... An awakening, THE Awakening... Chopin aside... though terrified by water it must be a sign how can logic exist in pyramidal structure? and how can there be light it’s a so simple basic and advanced to climb fly catapult to the heights there wasn’t a search party for us. dynamos were right.

art: Kee Archambault 3

Mud Slaps Micheal Trieb

4 photo: Simone Sparks and Creepy Crow

Fire Poem Erin Morris Leaf carrying sun coming down blinding me not meaning to look just running through oh god I touched my eye after masturbating twice this morning & oil painting the afternoon was advised not to lick my finger with the cadmium red on it. I began as self loathing & ended as light scattered on the lake white hot & flesh toned & seductive again: getting what I want. I just love a man who kisses with his mouth closed. The sky gives the sky one good twirl of its pink cape & then showâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s over dark window wears my face. If you are eating dinner now I want you to think of me. If you are washing your hands or cleaning your brushes or grasping your cock while you piss. I began as a chick & ended a fox. I was a dry leaf & then this terrible news of California wildfire.

Father Cierra Lowe The stars hung themselves that night And as the light leaked out of them The moon starved itself away And the sun hid its face Behind clouds that slit their wrists And poured out every reason they ever had to float The rivers bled and the oceans yawned And all the lakes swallowed themselves On the day you left The trees sheared themselves in mourning And every flower swore off their colors The sky fell And the earth cracked herself open Searching for the place Where you might have gone

photo: Tiffany Sutton

INTOXICATED Dani Skye WE LOCKED EYES AND I INSTANTLY STARTED TO LOSE MY BREATH… CLOSE MY EYES AND SLOWLY COUNT TO 10…. I WANT HIM TO SEX ME SO BAD… KISS ME… LAY ME DOWN ON A WATERBED FULL OF ROSE PETALS SO WE CAN RIDE THE WAVES… UNDRESS ME…TAKE MY RED LACED PANTIES OFF WITH HIS TEETH SLOWLY… SPREAD MY LEGS WIDE OPEN…GET MY KITTY WET…LICKING OFF MY JUICES OFF HIS FINGERS… GIVING ME A DEVILISH GRIN… HE GO MAKE ME BEG FOR IT…PLAYING WITH MY ME LIKE THAT… HITTING MY SPOT WITH HIS TONGUE…. I LOST TRACK OF HOW MANY TIMES I CAME THAT NIGHT… I FEEL SO INTOXICATED…THOSE JUICY LIPS ON MINE…. LICKING AND SUCKING ON MY TITTIES SO SEDUCTIVELY…NIPPLES SO HARD….IM CUMMMING AGAIN…. I WISH HE WOULD QUIT FUCKING WITH MY EMOTIONS…EXTENDED FOREPLAY…. PEACHES…STRAWBERRIES…. KIWIS…BLINDFOLD ME…. EATING ME OUT WITH PEACHES ON MY CHERRY…UP AND DOWN…THE COLDNESS…. THE WETNESS…MIXED IN WITH MY NATURAL JUICES… COME ON ZADDY…. GIVE ME THAT GOOD WOOD…. FILL ME UP LIKE GASOLINE…. DEEP BREATHS…SLOWLY COUNTING TO 10…. HE GAVE IT TO ME…. ITS SO BIG….SO HARD….MY KITTY KAT TIGHTEN UP…. GRIPS ON THAT WOOD…STILL CUMMING LIKE A RIVER…. I CAN’T TAKE IT…. BUT I CAN TAKE IT…. SWITCH POSITIONS…. I RIDE HIM IN SLOW MOTION…GOT HIM ALL IN HIS MUTHAFUCKING FEELINGS…GRIPPING ON MY ASS…. YOU LIKE THAT HUH…. WARM LIKE APPLE PIE…. I GOT THE BEST…. SAINT LOUIS FINEST….

Stream of consciousness 12:10 -91 C.J. Hue men cannot provide what they are marketing to you you too!?! the zoo mean girls scene hard kick in the spleen crew ...sorry... not sorry.... cliché click ask me bout my clit oh shit the conversation so dumb I know I’m gunna split “they” can call me flaky but Tony the tiger fuckin quit... can’t figure all the labyrinths so yo u can just go quit.... poking me on fb is that even still a thing? the dad’s these daze are bumpkin and I swear that I could sing... confessional, you know it’s me, a reel Mc a Mick. or waves...

shouting out in glassiness the shards

so thick!

photo: Simone Sparks and Creepy Crow

photo: Kurt Zuver

Outpatient Therapy Zoe Scala A mother clings to her son’s hockey glove, One of the only things that still smells like him, Since he was shot and killed in a gas station robbery. One girl speaks of God healing her of her autism, And the moderator quickly redirects her conversation. A kid my age across the room stares at me with dark eyes. He talks of sex addiction. Maybe I’d be more sympathetic if he wasn’t looking at me like a piece of meat. Molestation, molestation! For him, an uncle, for her a father, Cousins, brothers; And then we wonder Why our sons and daughters End up unable to function. A woman breaks down, hyperventilating, And once she leaves the others in the room look at each other with disapproving stares. As if this is not the place for that, As if they are not in similar situations. A woman comes up to me, After I talk about how I want to be a man, How I’ve always felt like a man, And she gives me her number, Demanding I call her if I ever need anything. She, recently divorced from her wife, Because her wife couldn’t accept her for who she was. Women with shaking hands applying lipstick, Over and over, Hurriedly smoking on the short breaks, Hoping for some relief.

Metamorphosis Natalie Smith The boundaries of my body are blurred. The once Blunt ends of my fingers blend and smear, like Rorschach blots, Into a pool of surrounding air. The short scrubs of my hair sprout wildly Like stalks, seeking As vines of some flowering weed for something to leech on. I am expanding one moment, Collapsing the next, retreating infinitely inward, Drawing in my limbs. I sponge up all my musings, stifle My breath, tuck words under my tongue Or in the penny pouch of my cheek; Some days I must go mute And lock myself in the echo chamber of my mind, Re-absorbing reverberations Of the sour thoughts that I have shunned While I searched for peace So keenly outside of myself.

art: Cory Perkins

Lucid Natalie Smith i dream of flyingâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; up over the city on a quiet night when the people are sleeping and the sky holds her breath i dream of flying across miles of tired land populated by people who are equally tired and brown, brown, brown with dying, neglected vegetation and neglected buildings erected with good intentions from brick and stone i dream of flying to you across this stretch of earth to the place where you have been for over seven months now and i dream of taking you with me to fly by my side

art: Sean Arnold 17

photo: Tiffany Sutton

I Interject Something Matthew Freeman I remember reading Nietzsche in a darkened hallway when one of my friends’ fathers came up and asked me about the upcoming baseball season. “I quit,” I said. “What? Why’d you do that,” he said. “That way I can read more.” “You’ve lost it,” he said. And I loved a girl who loved the Doors and— Wait a minute, I have to stop this bullshit and say I was just at the gas station and while getting a soda I dropped an ice cube on the floor and I looked at it for a second and then I went to the cashier and I thought about that ice cube and then I left and now somebody’s gonna slip and fall on that ice cube and they’re gonna look at the footage and I’m totally screwed— and I keep thinking to die, I go, and I had such a bothersome falling that it had to be real when you compare Morrison to Jesus to my English teacher and we were so early and was it your consciousness who walked to Union Station in the rain fearful of cops and having no Idea or was it your consciousness that woke up in the holding cell having been told the charges were dropped so that now I only say what is necessary and see peace, see it fleeting, I’m just an average guy walking down the street, getting his call.

photo: Kurt Zuver 21

Variations on a Boat 21 November 2018 Hart L’ecuyer 1. UNDER DURESS I was amazed by the size of the boat. I had never seen a boat. It was metal and rectangular. “We have to go now, Erasmus,” said the man whose face had the cartography of the moon. I had no illusions about where I was going. I was going to die. “Easy does it, there you go.” I sat down in the boat. A cold breeze came over the water. “Where are we going?” I said. “I am taking you to see Bill. Bill sent me specifically to find you and bring you in.” Then the man whose face had the cartography of the moon put a black bag over my head. I was terrified I was going to fall into the water and not be able to swim. My hands were tied. 2. SHOPPING “What kind?” I said as I hopped out of Bill’s truck. “Like a fishing boat, with a little motor,” said Bill. We walked into the boat store. It was just like the ads promised: boats everywhere. “Hi, how can I help you folks?” said someone who worked at the boat store. “I’d like to buy a boat, please,” said Bill. “OK, what kind of boat? As you can see, we carry all kinds.” “One of them little metal fishing boats with a little motor I can take out on the lake,” said Bill. “Right this way, right this way!” 3. PARTY “Where?” said someone. “Across the lake,” I said. “Erasmus, you bring the tequila. I’m driving,” said Bill.

So we piled into the boat, someone on the prow and Bill in the back and me in the middle. It was only a short ride across the lake. The noise of the party grew louder as we approached. The boat bumped into the dock and someone tied us up. We walked up a gravel path to the party. Someone opened the door for us. Someone was very glad to see us and got us all drinks. We partied as parties go for about three hours. Then we walked back to the dock. Someone must have done a pretty shitty job tying up the boat, because the boat was gone. We would have to swim. 4. HANDJOB I still can’t get over the fact that someone tried to get a handjob on a boat when we were out at the lake last weekend. Bill started it, shining this massive flashlight on them, shouting obscenities. “You getting a handjob, bro?” That was how it started. Pretty soon everybody was pitching in to make fun of someone. It was somewhat funny, the idea of someone trying to get a handjob on a boat, but when someone started yelling back angrily and we realized that was exactly what someone was trying to do, it became really funny. Then I noticed that someone had tied the boat up at the dock and was coming up the steps. Someone appeared on the deck, fists out, walking slowly like a boxer. “What the fuck, Erasmus?” “Woah, calm down, man,” I said. “You ruined our night. And you! Bill! Fuck you, too!” And just like that, someone and his girlfriend left. We laughed about it well into the morning. 5. PROPOSAL I let Bill get into the boat first. “Where are we going?” said Bill. “Just this nice little spot I know of,” I said. I turned on the motor and we sped away from the dock out into the middle of the lake. “Beautiful day,” said Bill. He was right about that. “You’re right about that,” I said. I cut the engine. We were right in the middle of the lake and there was no one around. “So,” said Bill. “Yeah,” I said, and I kissed him. “Will you marry me?”

6 BEACH We thought about driving to the beach but after balancing all two of the options we decided to take the boat. “Hey Erasmus,” said someone very pretty. “Want to rub some sunscreen on my back?” “Yeah sure,” I said. Bill was making a sandcastle with a moat and drawbridge and turrets. I went over to the edge of the beach to the boat to get the sunscreen. 7. TRIPPING The trees had been moving for about an hour and a half when we decided it was time for a boat ride. Bill and I changed into swimwear and walked carefully down the gravel steps to the dock. I untied the boat and we paddled forth. There was a dense fog on the water. “I feel like we’re flying,” I said. “Me too,” said Bill. The fog was like a cloud. We laid down towels and lounged about in the fog for quite some time. 8. WAR Bill and I fought together in the War of the Boats long ago. “Watch it! Someone’s coming out of the cove,” said Bill. “I see them,” I said. I fired my bb gun. There was a loud ping as it hit the enemy boat. “Ow! Fuck! I’m hit,” said Bill. “Get down! They’re bringing out the big guns,” I said. Someone’s bb ricocheted off the boat. Too damn close to my eyes. The voice of reason started up then and it occurred to me that this wasn’t the best idea.

State of the Union Zoe Scala Ticking and tocking, Flipping and flopping, Ripping and gnawing, Birds eating carcasses, Beaks dripping with blood. Tourists in sandals jauntily bobbling, Time marches onwards towards mutual destruction. Sleeping to waking, Loving to faking, Men always pacing, The work never stops while the bosses have fun. Dunkin and donuts, Drunken and loaded, Fi fie and foe-ded, They come for your sons. And your daughters and children, And spouses and civilians, Because government officials line their pockets with blood. Funding and bundling, Embezzling and scheduling, Writhing and trying, To make sense of a world that pays cops to kill children. It’s impossible to function when news is so constant, Atrocities beamed into our minds on the run. Binging and purging, Unfazed and gurgling, Burning and yearning— The world’s spinning So quickly It just Flings Us Off

photo: Bekah Fischer 28

art: Cory Perkins

Diet Dirty Things Frances Garren I’m blowing my back out for you And you’re rubbing your dick raw And no one is coming To save our lives Except for us My husband is the one who expels My lunch That is to say I throw up when I see him That is to say I don’t have a husband And why not Why don’t I That is to say I murdered My desire to be owned That is to say Everyone should Choose their name Change the game And talk about now Talk about new grocery stores That deliver And trolleys And banks vs credit unions And sex shops for Kinks Coffee shops for every kind of person Breathing clean air Drinking clean water knowing where We are in reference to children our responsibilities

My husband and I Love going to the Porno store and eating bagels After dropping our kids off At karate That is to say I am eating diet coke And drinking sandwiches From the underground menu Inquiring about the aspartame sky So When I come to the function Can i bring a cooler? Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m blowing my back out for you And youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re rubbing your dick raw That is to say no one is coming To save our lives Except for us. l.

art: Kee Archambault

An Interview with THAMES by Sister Wizzard

photo: Emma Bright

On a warm Monday evening, in the blue glow, I sat with Gabriel Jackson and Zander Hayes of Thames at Sasha’s on Shaw. We discussed their new album, Spotlight, that will be released July 6th, 2019 at Blueberry Hill. The themes of the new Thames album are love, loss and lust. The concept came as inspiration from a hard break up. The album is cathartic and psychedelic, and it cuts deeper lyrically than the group’s previous EPs, which are available for streaming on Bandcamp. In contrast to clean piano sounds in their previous work, the forthcoming album vears in the direction of electronic. Sister Wizzard: What bands does Thames sounds like? Gabriel Jackson: Think Local natives, The 1975, Arctic monkeys, Radio head or Foals. Zander Hayes: Yeah, as a band, we construct our sound as an ecclectic mix of all of our member’s different tastes. SW: Individually what do you think you each contribute in style? ZH: Gabriel is R&B and pop. GJ: Zander gives us emo folk. Sean listens to bad ass music, throwback desert rock, and has a secret love for pop. ZH: Noah mostly listens to all sad boi music. And Connor always plays Rush or jazz. SW: Would you say Thames is very jazzy? ZH: We like jazz, but I wouldn’t call us ‘jazzy.’ I thought 2016 was a good year for the Grammys, but then John Scofield won for best jazz improvised. Fuck John Scofield. SW: Tell me about your new music video for your song “Boys Don’t Cry.” GJ: Emma Bright directed the video and she helped us represent our aesthetic and visual ideas. We wanted a classic black and white boy band suite and tie situation with deep washes of color to create a mood of cathartic existentialism. ZH: The song musically expresses a new wave emo perspective through dark modern pop. We didn’t know what sort of narrative would represent this well,

and Emma helped us create a plan. The most important theme we wanted people to see in our video was the duality of masculinity. SW: What does the duality of masculinity mean to you both? GJ: In our journey as a band we have had to face the culture’s connotations of vulnerability and masculinity and what it means to be a “man.” As an all male group we found it crucial to confront our own sense of masculinity so that we might be the most authentic as performers, and that requires a lot of vulnerability actually. It seems that the idea that men shouldn’t have or express emotions or be gentle has been thought by people into life for generations and causes them to have not neccesarily a wrong version of masculinity but definitely a malnourished version. We want to change the general acceptance of a toxic and often unhappy default that keeps people from being self-actualized and fulfilled. ZH: The video’s storyline follows 12 young men, some with shirts off and some on, all standing around in a mob. To symbolize mob mentality, Emma directed shots highlighting aggression and fighting to juxtapose against other shots that represent softness, such as reaching out and touching hands and resting our heads on each other’s shoulders and stuff. GJ: An interesting thing happened after we released the video. Some of the first reactions I received from some of my friends kind of shocked me. I remember somebody said right away, “Gay!” And for me it felt kind of weird because while part of the theme of duality in masculinity for me totally encompasses the spectrum of sexuality it seemed to me like calling the video ‘gay’ kind of misses the point. Vulnerability between men is important for everyone, not only for gay guys, and that was the whole point of the video. SW: Yeah, and especially coming from your friends. C’mon. DO BETTER! ZH: Thankfully we did get a lot of positive feedback as well, and the video has been the beginning of a lot of meaningful conversations about this idea that we are more happy and whole when we accept everything that is within us. SW: Are you excited about anything else coming up soon? GJ: Yes! We are going on tour this summer, July 8-14. We’ll be playing in Nashville, Memphis, Louisville, Newport, Columbus, and Indianapolis. SW: That’s awesome! I can’t wait to hear your new album and I hope a lot of people come out to celebrate it with you!

above: Gabriel Jackson, below: Zander Hayes photo: Emma Bright

photos: Kurt Zuver

Fetish Poem Erin Morris It’s probably not his real name at all but Merle says he once watched a man meet a hooker in a hotel lobby, just kissed her right on the mouth & took her bag & her upstairs in the elevator. It was part of a bigger story about how Merle doesn’t get really attracted without love & intellect, I don’t know if he’s trying to sound rare or quaint or if it kinda embarrasses him to not just go up to a pretty lady & lay it on her. OK Merle now put my toes in your mouth one at a time. Make sure you push your tongue between each toe, your big old man triangle tongue, be careful don’t chip my polish with your clumsy teeth. It’s funny being a kind of hooker, a not all the way hooker. Mostly he wants to talk, every hooker’s dream. He wants a kind of love, he wants to make me a quiche. He likes the blindfold & the crop & the book we read by Wynton Marsalis. He doesn’t like being kicked or sat on, he’s maybe too old for that. Pain is maybe not exciting when you have it all the time just waking up & moving around. Sometimes he’s wrong & I don’t even punish him, I’m a lazy dominatrix, I really just like it when he’s talking. Tell me a story, I say. I used to press my stiletto into him while he talked, now I just listen politely, hands folded, feet nearby. It’s funny wondering if I’ll still get paid to be a friend. He has stories from Florence & Ireland & Lake Geneva & Chicago & the racetrack when he was a hot walker & he met Smarty Jones once, watched him run. When in sexy voice I ask him what was the last thing that REALLY turned him on, he takes a while & then says, being next to his wife in bed, just being there feeling really close.

Why did you pull away the first time we touched? Kyle Wilson My father’s fists Plant their knuckles In the soft soil Of my bedroom wall. Leaving behind a fracture. Whose physical breaking Can be in more way Than one. Because of my father, The men in my life Become a potential collateral. “Would you want to get coffee Some time?” What goes Through my mind is that Coffee leads to connection, Connection leads to commitment, Commitment leads to The complete vulnerability Of my bareness, To someone who Could make me hurt again. So when he puts his hands On my hips, My father’s striking throws Revert their past uses, And build brick walls between us. Even as he smiles at me, I smile back lovingly But my blood is miles away. When will there be a man Who won’t remind me Of the fear of Men like my father. - “Why do you pull away first when we touch?”

photo: Bekah Fischer

Carol C.J. Hue never forget Carol mindset so gin and juice every angle whack obtuse always anxious overuse luv youuuuu byuhhh!!! uh biiiii mathematical reduce every fangl uuuhhh D whose? who is duck duck goose.

art: Kee Archambault

The MO gov call Cara J McHugh Status update: Called that governors office in 5 7 3 JEFFERSON CITY to “annoy” and talk about how (imagine the *stuffed sinus “gross” nasal* voice. ...(cause I’m weather “messed up” m.s. disabled, and very currently, abled.)) ...so basically.... Word. “The very liberal friends and I are concerned with the police state and no justice. The fb status shit has the calling. I’ve had an abortion, and my liberal terrified friends are driving me insane with my PTSD and their fear. ... And y’all (literally “y’all ‘voice’ “) Are in power, the people’s politicians, and are in a major police state injustice poking war!!!! and it’s driving me insane! WAS asked to call, I’ve had an abortion. ...and y’all need to stop. The grass is green on both sides. I walk the line. From 314 to 573. Out.” And so, the phonecall to the MO governor in 2019 was made in a very sinus -ey voice by a very messy poet in “proper style” editing. And the birds were springing.

St. Charles Sean Arnold The Missouri River shimmies Like the roof of a tin house in the sun. When I was younger I was full of Reluctant religion got married in a Secular ceremony. After I’d Painted pentagrams on empty buildings Painted slogans on empty buildings Tagged Cras Culture on empty buildings Thought it was time to settle down. The old men here talk shit I dream a dream of a woods unknowable Marco Polo to an Invisible City disappearing into foothills. I come here to write on a day off that never ends It’s the only place not just full of the spirit of God in this whole county. Even then young women read gold leafed bibles as I write this. I dream of a sin so grand I’d be relieved, In the same way I’d been sinned against. I dream of a rap song so vulgar It would make me young and absolved. Diamond chains and cocaine blowing against chain link fences in St. Charles county I’m sure someone else is writing it right now. I dream of bagels, lox, caviar and gin so good I could never drink it. The Missouri moves like a motion picture It’s cleaner than the St. Louis Mississippi One could almost swim in it. My brain dissolving into coffee Like drops of liquid acid.

photo: Bekah Fischer

Oscar Meyer Blues (for John P.) Bobby Stevens I’d rather do that than this When the symmetry becomes unnerving. When I realize how long The chickpea stew has been in the freezer, The ice rising on the top Like a clock that is telling time By the month, left over. I’d rather take a walk, My head cloudy with anxious, aimless hope. It’s strange to see where the sidewalk changes. I’ll turn and predict where The dandelions will grow in the spring. That’s a good stopping point, I guess Because I won’t tell anybody these things. Well, on second thought, I’ll probably tell you, Because I know, that you know what it’s like To fall asleep with a plan, But wake up in the morning, feeling just a bit of The Oscar Meyer blues.

These Lesser Days A Letter from a third shift, joebryant Been picking up heavy drinking again, along with my other sins. We post up at the closest bar, just a couple of friends. One who’s too loud for his intolerance and the other too bitter for his own influence. Finishing off the trio is myself, a waste of my talent. There’s a bottle or two with a glass overturned, I see someone from across the room approaching slowly. Doesn’t say a word just tentatively smiling. They says hey I’ll give you the time if you promise not to drain me out and leave me to die. You don’t even have to be mine, you’re just worth the time. Snap forward to Polaroids falling from my notebook, a memory so painful I can’t even look. Just some form of love or passed up belligerence, the envy of modern man, a city I love and someone to touch. Well, it’s back to reality that 9-5 a place I have memorized. I sleepwalk through late nights and pretend to talk, but I’ve lost myself and my train of thought. I feel so invisible so damned and disposable. Like the cigarette once finished is just tossed aside and the trash floating across the parking lot did it once bring joy or comfort? How can I even say that I was anything more? A field filled with corn and the heart of America, the soils as rich as the the cartels of Columbia. But I’m a damned hypocrite I want to be as free as the birds passing. Not the eagle statues at the end of a driveway. Or a flag that flies for something that it was never meant to be. But what does independence mean if we can’t fly as we please and love so freely. I’ll ask for another drink and head for the east. At least, I know I can be free regardless of my disease. I am exactly where I am and that’s right where I should be. In the end, we’re outlasting our last call for scope and sequence. It’s all patterns of sound and scheduled shifts. Payroll to those who play by the rules nothing for those who create. Just a pat on the back and a smile for luck. I’m out of my mind searching for answers like a child to their mother. Hey can I eat and survive, off poetry and life? If not then maybe you should have just let me die. We’re not the ink from our pens or the melody. Nor are we the strings or piano keys. Just so thirsty and starving for something close to lasting.

Diamond Poem Erin Morris To the girl who put her sandwich plate on the armchair beside her armchair: you have now forced someone into the indignity of having to ask your forgiveness to occupy the space your most glorious sandwich has claimed. “I’m so sorry,” they’ll say, “but do you MIND if I sit here in this chair for people instead of your sandwich?” I hate you. I hope I’m not a terrible person because for 2 days the city hacked our trees down & I did nothing to save them. I got some garbage to the curb in time. Squirrels jumped hard on the roof, the dog had wet feet. I really don’t remember my dreams. Am I gnawing my stall? You had such an elegant answer for me. I want to give you credit. Here’s some credit, here in my little cupped hands. Like pretending to drink from the tiny bowls with your daughter. Here’s my heart. Oh thank you for this wooden banana. This excellent painted tomato. Approximation of love pressed seriously into your hand. Last night you couldn’t BELIEVE I’d never been bowling, & you decided I couldn’t appreciate the beauty of the Saratoga Lanes. “Well I’ve seen bowling alleys,” I protested, “in movies.” You shook your head. But the fight was because I touched you & you didn’t touch me back. I’d already decided by the end of my last husband that I wouldn’t feel that way anymore. I SIMPLY REFUSE TO LIVE LIKE THIS, I didn’t say but every woman wants to & to throw her diamonds down.

photo: Simone Sparks and Creepy Crow