by by Sam Alper


There’s a dog barking somewhere
in the novel you’re reading

imagine an ice sculpture of the Titanic being thrown at a mountain
all conceptual people are running away from something

I thought the cigarettes and poetry would rise and fall with each other but it’s an inverse relationship like rival brothers or us.


I can understand how women’s menstrual cycles sync up
I mean, why not?
And I can understand being passionate about politics
Yeah, sure, go for it.
I can understand why I’m appealing to a certain kind of girl,
For the life of me I can’t understand why I have dreams about cats that press against my legs like unstoppable forces herding me
Cats don’t herd, right?
What’s with these dream cats then?


When I think my life is boring I sometimes imagine a steel spike
pegging me to the bed or whatever
like Bam, really fast
pinning me like a butterfly back into myself
through the winglike undershoulder muscle

A nice steel railroad spike
Simple, timeless, clean
The impulse might be minimalist or anti-entropic or sick or nothing

I fucked up my teeth
for no good reason
I got lazy about my retainers and now they’re
a little crooked
My mom bought me tooth whitening gel in syringes in case I ever wanted one of those
white teeth jobs
I really liked holding those syringes, oh yeah, but
I got lazy about those too

I had a framed case of pinned butterflies on my wall for years
they were lucky little guys and we got along until a woman got between us
That’s morbid. Those things are dead.
and I just oh yeah yeah yeah

I have dreams with a granite basin of water in a kitchen like a
Williams-Sonoma kitchen
It clears up all my acne and also works as a decongestant
That’s probably the dream I have the most

My mom laughed all through It’s Complicated and I just thought
It is it is it is.


Where mothers and father go to act cruel to pictures of their children and
smoke long thin cigarettes
to look each other in the eye, for once
stepping off the boat saying They say the island’s small but look how much there is
I miss you Joanna, before we’ve met
I see you in the library pretending to read
you gorgeous illiterate
it’s so easy to forget the shitty things you videoblog
when you make such good eye contact
I’m afraid of chickens and my memory because I can’t tell how much of them there is
under the feathers
Oh god what if I keep this beard forever?