Issue 8

The Josephus Problem

 · Poetry

Previously motivating hormones
may mint scripts less full

of fucking/frenching.
Golden ovates-o-black birches may

tap avenues eddy-led
by rah-rah’s-o-thermal dissolution

— they by water, distance from a star,
nothing’s first slug, my

ability to sense or give ’em say/
never wonder

whether or not Novec, or Sallie
Mae make paid.

Rhythm’s only song —
how refrain means to abstain

from/repeat, A tune/burden —
some fucking/degraded telomeric

tails, slow goodbyes however
you want.
                        Well hello. Don’t be

confused. Poured concrete walks
envelop oviposited vinyl

Ryan, Toll Bro., turquoise
kidney ponds, click-n-lock

play places kids like just s much,
s Briar Patch park. Grottos-o-pine/

low geometry hid from duh bright
blue bake n bottomed by wet pea
gravel refreshing shadow where
gaping we guessed et half
empty trojans/smelled sour

spills uh snuck Schlitz/thought
of et everyday after fer butter

or wurst. Don’t be worried,
you’re covered by duh dukkha

of ordinary suffering, legions
of half-interested demons

roam the rows of townhomes/
still-fat veins/phantom reflections

of Potomac gold/TVs flash!
tru hermetic double-hungs

skittering shadows cross
the road whispering n yer own

demons ear yer own central
heat/all what he/she needs t’sleep

sound. Don’t be confused this sex
is good (better’n what dribbles

outta Champs/lost cost nutrition/
education adequate to assessing

relative health risks/liquidity/
long term content). Don’t be

confused when two perfections
are attained side by side, each

utterly disagreeable to the other.
circling the room/house/neighbor-

hood/district/until turning back
hugs each itself or I you. We

lay across two reeds knowing
enough to just reach each

but a myocardial infarction —
(you were never going to know)

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