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1 by matt nelson

Picture
Image by Ryder Ripps

CHAPTER 1: You forced the edge to awaken the engines.
Sorry I didn’t mention this before but
I can’t help
but to think back
to the B-cut of the car
inside of me
my when of leaving it and you
with you in the driver seat, guide
book under your Jordan 3s
wondering whether you can get away
A pure no hug vehicular transaction
balanced by seatbelts
bent over an awkward yellow
Like that color yellow which screams for sleep
with no lemon no salt rim
imagine that solvent
Goodbye afternoon
So that’s what I really think about:
About how fast departure is possible,
how you absolutely have to want what’s different
than what I want
Although this is me thinking for you
so obviously not true
so obviously
fuck me
Mark said the bests in life are second person plurals
First comes the tear
Think about the last time you read a poem that cried
really broke down and wetted the bed, went for
the sniffle on the crushed curve of a lurid curtain
Whenever I see the word cry or tears or wail or weep
there’s an involuntary and unencumbered scoff
like a dolphin jumping ship before the ticket takers
ask, How did you get on without a ticket
But I should give myself a break
a tear break
which is redundant read all over
Walking around Manhattan
I feel inhuman and quiet
and it makes me want to lick self-addressed envelopes
with postage stamps showing a forest
losing its hair
Has anyone seen lately in neon blocks over Time Square
*GOOD TIMES ARE HERE AND ALSO AHEAD* ?
I didn’t think so
That is why I am not what everybody else is
and what I potentially could be is hard to touch
and I’m not saying I’m not everybody
but you are
My body is a cardboard house built on the fake business
presidents give to each other when they crash
international hot tub conventions
pretending to be entrepreneurs in the spa world
interested only in high-functioning abbreviations  
The F.U.C., the K.T.H.A., the T.S.H.O.T.
Is crying really that bad?
Why does everybody scoff?
If I snap my wrists
is that the same as letting my eyes spill built
stolen images?
What about the bit when it gets stuck
ahead of its snowed-in future?
I want to see it now
You should know I’m crying
I’m not telling you to cry or to scoff
or that it sounds like a trout rubbing its scales off after a bad date
It is not a statement of truth you can prove like
I was born on a Tuesday
This is snot in my nose
and snot that has left my nose
since I’ve left Mark’s first class mail embrace
(He got out of car in case you were wondering
by why would you because duh, he’s Mark and so is the situation)
I try to remember when it was exactly
that I was planning ahead to this moment of release
How happy I was then
(can you still say happy in a poem?)
Happy just to walk the streets
with other cardboard houses on three wheels
talking about Mike and his heavy-weight title
where every one of our titles come from
We can’t hold this daylight
and we didn’t make the streets
but nighttime has a key card to the hotel pool room
where we all cry underwater
with LED fashion goggles
lighting up our indeterminate but extremely loving parties
Tell me where you got your shoes.
Tell me more about how you were already in a cloud when the rain came
Tell me why you teach your friends how to swim
Tell me about merch tent ghosts
Tell me to pronounce miniscule better
Tell me the time you danced above yourself and tattooed the face of the club onto your leg
Tell me everything you take out of your pockets
Tell me your favorite stop sign, your favorite lamp post, your favorite emoji combination
Tell me the difference between door knobs and hand shakes
Tell me about soccer parties and data plans and one hitters saved from cousins in college
Tell me about your family’s backyard
Tell me how to dig through sleep in a dog bed
And for that, II’ll tell you why the roof is the best place to kiss
why the wind is curved just so
why I scar easier than I break
I’ll tell you the secret final location of the [Q.E.D.]
And why it is that we see light bulbs under every umbrella


CHAPTER 2: it’s hard to get across the truth. Not in any movie, no top lock combination of hair, clothes, shoes, nose, or goggles.


When love is like a full moon
I thought, while pointing, to point
at it is to make it true.
There is, there it is, an expected, navigable, trace
on the blackboard.
There she, there it is now, (such confusing) is and
there’s it, the shame is (twist),
and there is, she is and
here, her here I found you she found me
I found you I found me I found you I found me



MATT NELSON is co-founder of mellow pages. read his previous work in shabby dollhouse, the brooklyn rail, and a big wind. or shave his beard.
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