photo by Matt Walker
I find myself
a loaded potato in Canada
and in a relationship with the highest pitch
a grand piano can feed off of. I feel
as though I might die without eating
pomegranate seeds or without an understanding
of bureaucracy, spelling and otherwise.
Because we can’t do
lunch today, because we spooned
with Fred Astaire, because urine is good
for the shrubbery, we realize
because to be no because
I find myself understanding the end
of the movie before the rest of the band does.
A. Minetta Gould was raised in the mittens by a beautician. She's since transplanted herself to the West where she worries herself with rust, the epic, and pagination. A. is the Associate Editor for Black Ocean & edits the online journal Lonesome Fowl.
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