To dance nude for dimes and nickels under the guillotines and gallows
near the maquiladoras of the periphery; whispering prayers for 40 days
and 40 nights of sleet, rain, mist: to dam, deaden and dim nature’s pity.
Those rococo narcocorridos or that blatnyak beat of hammers or chisels
– it all equates to a natural invasiveness such as the iris’ venomous leaks.
The border of the brain is porous as skin. These roaring 20’s: more horse
racing songs; more sex diseases; more cures. More nostalgia for the solid.
The rent is an asymmetrical calculus; as the existence of evil or hobos.
On the lakefront there’s a prestigious poet pissing into Mountain Dew
bottles and floating them to Canada. Elvis made 33 very special films.
Driving drunk isn’t fun anymore. & this town needs a Jack Nicholson
Joker or a coked-up Dennis Hopper. All those children on recess break
are laughing at me as I walk to Walgreens. One must watch more porno
than one writes. I’m on your hunger strike. I’m nude in your mass grave.
The art of the future shall render us all crippled. Bonjour & au revoir are all
I know. Astronauts & cosmonauts orgasm in shame as Earth sluggishly spins
while watching, laughing coldly, and knowing it’s better than this. Poop jokes.
Ancestry.com told me I’m the whitest person it knows. That fucked theremin
sound of police car sirens in the distance. Jesus likes his funk uncut. The days
of suicide booths is lastly upon us. My wife wets at Kesha Rose Sebert, once
stylized as Ke$ha, & dreams nightly of the two of them fleeing me & the cat.
ABOUT THE ARTIST
Joseph Lee Meads is currently an MA student in the Program for Writers at the University of Illinois at Chicago and has been previously published in Columbia Poetry Review, Chicago Literati, Lover’s Eye Press, Rejected Lit, Wasted Pages, and elsewhere. He is a disabled, neurodivergent writer who takes pics of his muted television and posts them onto Instagram: @joseph.lee.m.
Photo by Colin Gee
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