the destroyer > text > Jordan Young
TWO POEMS
Only hidden things are obscene
if you are introspective, you see
your own death—that’s an abstraction
to me, the whole effect
diamonds in your collarbone,
catching the light I only started
choreographing so I could have
something to show off (in)
when you get bored with yourself
pretend you are going to die
it can last but most don’t
do it right I must sleep
Agnes wakes me, likes
my un-dyed hair
Jet black, gloved and veiled,
technique is a language
that makes strain impossible
fell backwards in a black
evening gown (walk in—
heart to the floor)
this is why we throw
the baby to wolves
Meanwhile, space outside my blue front door
was traveling space. Joy is a terror
in which one has confidence. My friends posting
pictures of themselves on the internet. (One could see
the contents of their living rooms, for instance.)
Bitten when I tried to clean the rabbit’s cage.
I’d like to go to a public space and do something
offensive. Instead, he is taking my picture.
(When I judge a thing, I annihilate it.)
Airplanes are full of the stalest air.
Because we are away from home,
because of illness, he sees things
about me at the moment I do.
Hating isn’t difficult.
Puke into this white paper bag.
Must intimacy lead to exposure?
On the flight out, sit in the aisle seat
so later you can stand
looking at the tops of heads.