these martinis are beginning to kill me
is the best way i can define our miseries
—waves pounding the Spanish olives against my lips?
not in a dream song or 20hundred haikus pinned to the tail of a pickup truck
we’re talking the last one of the last century
with the boned fender & before even the poor & the hungry
a brushed twill ripped at the knees—blood like a record diamond
so you think you can escape the way you felt?
history is the thing we need to complete people
model planes covered in glue & set on fire
mid-afternoon circa 1988
the. year. of. the. dragon.
the crease in the wrong part of your tongue
& the folds of a paper airplane emerge with the pinch of thin fingers
although they liven the stupid silhouette across the city where the cows led the carts
, heads bowed like sages—
although they liven the stupid & silent town—
the memories become shorter & less meaningful
—the substance of a genuine pain
when you are a kid & there’s nothing behind you—
but now— o god, now
Scott Jacobs Jr. is a bricklayer and founder of YesNo Press.
Image: Marcy Bergeron-Noa, “Dirty Martini” encaustic, ink on board.