from Feed


Dear reader,

Candle light is not too poetic to mention in a poem if we say the light slicks across our faces like mud butt.

The candle light slicked across our faces like mud butt. If I’d have known that was the last time I’d see his face lit at night I might have paid attention to the tall shadows. Cast, like a line. Catching connection.

Track 8: “Heartbeats” by the Knife (or honestly the Jose Gonzales cover but I’m a sucker for Karen Dreijer). Am I the only one who thinks this song is about atheism? Focus on the part where she sings that calling on hands from above for stability, to “lean on,” isn’t good enough for her. Hands of above? No, I need the hands right in front. Maybe the hands under. Hands around. But not hands of above. Prayer never helped nobody do nothing.

The ancestors say, sit up straight.

He “did” sales. Spent our dates polishing the poop chute of his attributes. I’m a people person he said over soggy vinegar and mayo fish n chips. Sales is about being a good listener, he’d coo into my ear after he picked my napkin off the floor and glossed it across my lap. I think… I think my worst quality is that I’m too real, I speak my mind too much, he said unprompted. He was like 6’5. His arms

VICTIMS OF GANG VIOLENCE IN EL SALVADOR HAVE THEIR CHILDREN TORN AWAY AT THE BORDER

made me want to throw myself
down
a flight of stairs. Touch crazed, I’d burrow
into bed, my mind alive with whatever the word
is when you can’t olive oil NO—when you and sleep
are like oil and water. I’d burrow
into bed, calmed by even the idea of him around
me, calmed so completely that all my sighs
came out in shudders and pies. But the days
and weeks wore without momentum. We drive to the light-
house Mimosa flute bodies clink cheers salud Then he drove
me home. Drop off the same time every night Arms
stay an idea. His arms abstract. So I

go
Lighting the horizon line like always. A season
used to be an authority figure
but now I can get tomatoes anytime of the year

Track 11: “Ready for the Floor” by Hot Chip. I’ll have to ask Dr. John if this counts as a Freudian slip, but I always thought the song was like, “open up, we’re tall!” And I was like f yeah! Don’t be a wallflower, come smooch me or whatever cos we’re both tall! But apparently it’s “open up with talk” which okay fine dialogue or whatever. Also I love myself a micro changing chorus. “Ready for the Floor” as in of course dance floor or whatever, in the context of the chorus ready to talk ready for dialogue, but when it switches to “ready for a fall” I kind of turn into a Pisces. I… fall… to Pisces? Sorry, Patsy Cline’s zombie is like rolling around in its grave rn I’ll see myself out

Tommy “Teebs” Pico is an indigenous American poet and screenwriter who hates going to gay bars alone because he gets annoyed when people talk to him and offended when they don’t. He is single and actively mingling. These two statements have nothing to do with each other.