Let’s live life like we’re drinking pure sugar. Let’s pour gasoline into ourselves and see what gets sticky. I want you to have to carry me home in protest. I want to beat and scream at your back, something cliché like LEMME AT ‘IM or THANK YOU. I want to know I’d do the same for you. We need that sometimes. We need each other sometimes. Choices whether bad or good lead to yet other choices bad or good. It’s impossible to count how many mistakes we’ve kept each other from making.
The point one of those blond girls
I am a sucker for was missing
is a billboard half way between our towns.
I rented it today. I got a pickup today.
Today I signed a tenth of my pay away
for three years. Enough gasoline in the tank
to get me to your porch swing.
The point I was missing--It is still loneliness
even covered in a wedding band even
drenched in sweat stumbling in a Hooters
even in words like OH SOMEBODY IT IS ME.
Zapruder wrote that poem about Dobby
and his sweatshirt, that time to bury into it.
I look at that poem daily. I look at my loan papers,
my insurance today. I have no clue what
any of this means but I find myself
counting--miles, dollars, the threads
of your t-shirts as I pull myself up.
Christopher Newgent and Tyler Gobble stand behind the Vouched Books table and sell their favorite small press books to unsuspecting passers-by. Once on a trip to New Mexico, an old Navajo weaver said they were each other's spirit animal.
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