october 22 (the poem our local alt-rag rejected–“I liked the ride, I think it would benefit by further work”!) vive la blog!

 

When we were driving in the truck

it only smelled a little bit of our cat, who was dead, in the

backseat.

I put a tight packet of October leaves in the grave

This is the death of my insanity

 

bonus burial

 

I come home, watch Broad City with Kate

get high like it’s nothing

mine’s fake, hers legal (lesions)

 

the next day it’s Sunday so I take DuBois because peeper traffic.

No one really knows how it’s pronounced. Six years on the planning board, I listened to everyone. Because I’m not from here. This fucking town.

It’s not named for W. E. B.

I’ll tell you that.

 

When I ran into your new girlfriend with the fake tits

I wasn’t even wearing my nice jeans

my ass improperly swathed I mean come on

Scallions for ramen in my cart

Slice them on sharp diagonals, does it mean something

I can never decide so

 

I just try to do it the best I can, in case

 

When I lie in bed at night and touch myself

in case something happens—you can’t be too rusty

it doesn’t seem like riding a bike, to me,

better practice

I soldier on

My mom’s face when it was a skull not a face jumps out at me I dive under the covers

 

I feel all the cats who’ve died on this bed pawing around

Season of changes season of the witch

I want to get this right, that cute boy said

 

I keep meaning to

go to the bar down the road

pick out someone with the right clothes

you think you know everyone, but you don’t

you said to me

but there’s never enough hot water left in the shower after all my thoughts

to shave my legs, so

 

Everything’s gone but me

Soldier on, honeybunch

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