Issue 6


 · Poetry

Begin, of course, by sitting
in a comfortable position, bent heads
hands cuffed together
Allow these words to fuck you softly
and help you recognize your godself
Zap you’re pregnant. That’s witchcraft
Blunted affect, shuddering turdgasm
Remember this scene: Mother’s
garden. Affective flattening of facts
Unhappiness squared
Summer school, mirror stage
Preparatory homosocial engineering
Slip personality in. Distribution of the sensible
Motion of the air-hump stressing body against sleep
To say the words slowly and mean them
means even less than the words themselves
Bomb those sandcastles
Be alone. Jam on it. Down the social stuff. I’d rather
be a classist than a foodie. I’d rather had been
Stefan George dressed as Dante
That was, of course, before puberty
and the complexities of eroticism
Insert anus into focus. Capitalist onslaught
Reductionist historicism
Television’s afterglow absorbed
Necessary feminist reductionism
Solipsistic Marxist genitals. Rubbing the clit
just like Wikipedia said. Althea Flynt
Jacqueline Kennedy, what’s got into you?
Jam-packed odium
One big overdose 

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