bedfellows magazine

attn: philly-area writers under age 30

...the poem uses no irony. the poem uses no figurative language whatsoever. the poem uses no humor. the poem uses no appropriate eye contact. the poem has a monotonous voice...

The beacon: a falcon, chest intrepid, gripping its victim: A pigeon plucked from peace of nearby park. One stern Bird above one dangling, what then depends upon such So much? Shall the falcon not account for the talons on Which it lands?

*scenes from the lives of my parents: she said I love you he said thank you she said nie, dziekuje he said nyet, do svidaniya (& this is how my father met my mother & my mother my father

i am on the rooftop of a row home in the purple moonlight, black cloaked and steady in the night breeze, ALIVE despite my physical eradication , VISIBLE because i wrote it so. if you lose me come find me i won't be far.

the extremely rapid back-and-forth shaking      fingers      likened to the desperate      purposeless back-and-forth running cornered animal who cannot or dares not take flight

dear e, parts of the nebula are approaching & others receding from the little antiquated chambers of the heart.

if bliss, then bills - turn the faucet either way nickels for everybody, though any love's a skiff in her loss i latched onto, long ago. i make myself useful, not because i like to. i like to fuck until total exhaustion. til eyes've left. owls of dirt, the stared at dusk. an opening for breakfast: a you, a wind, a waiting to blow those robins out of the tree.

Programs have located   sensual centers of knowledge       & have given directions      to find them            I forgot

there's a joy in watching a great team fall apart suddenly something you learn easily growing up in philly