the destroyer > text > Brooke Ellsworth
TWO POEMS
It’s Monday so it’s dead except for two tan people, I named my yacht Absofuckinglutely. I’m eating garnish and can be encased in the double, which is of pleasure. Hey you I estrange in a deadness, which is of necessity. I turn around to nothing, to the heroin self-evidence. I am on fire with myself. Touch my dick, touch the ghost of my dick. I advise the newsfeed
With the razed mountain of ash
And the Gatsby
That was razed
Along with it
Skinny bitches
From which their source
Is themselves
Somebody
Found a screw
In their black beans
A screw
Like hand me the screwdriver
Up in Alaska
Everybody works for Aramark
So this is common
One of the bartenders
Tells me
He loves
Meat
He’s been a
Junkie
Forever
What was
Waving
Years later I saw
His profile
Picture
Him and
Some
Girl holding a gun
On a boat
I enter the heart
I am
Hungry
For
Myself
Grabbed the tree and grabbed the tree’s
fence
I’m not naked this time
to stuff the idea
I am saying / here is the park
circulating and blue
Today feels so real
Memorial Day is the most real day
I’ve been fantasizing about my hands
dipped into the ocean of my childhood
a symbolic gloss of performance
I am not sorry
The world is alive
with what did I quiver with failure
The world is alive with appetite
seen thru the reddening tide
and the under-fiction
What birds don’t eat
What theoretical fingers
dip into the large, tangle of wires
You’re a bird and I'm a flag
My blistered feet are full
of birds
that which exists obviously
I take from here the emptying sounds of paradise
across from the emergence of her body
interpenetrating the opening
and is surrounded by a pale afterbirth
I just want you to know that
I inserted the meaning
pushing then from the contaminated torso
back into itself
A lifted thinking
I fear nature
and I fear the birds that drag
the material world
out of me
I know how to live in this universe
I know when to cover my hair
in sand
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