the people cum in pools.

in the lobby of your body building

in the land of headless selfies—

shredded men so mediocre-lettuce-like

descending

from a nacho

a viral vid of veggies anal sexing

even our food is fucked

maybe i’m funneling myself into a car that isn’t mine

maybe hush money with nothing to hush

i believed the viognier

until grander lies asserted themselves

now i’m unplugging all the rain

and spitting through a silencer.

to entrust you as my chaperone became an act of disgrace—

i’ve embedded myself in a stranger’s prom

and it’s looping like a sex tape

so if you’ve bought me dinner and you’re DTF, tell me i’m clear.

tell me i’m a goblet or a really functional vase or something sparkly

for all the grand gestures and desperate apologies

to which i’ll never graduate

say my marichino is the brightest

like it’s useful to compare what we abandon

there are moments of perspective—

the scruff beats out the aftershave

a tabloid tells an elegant truth

but for the most part

that’s the medicine talking

i can see your amateur brain

and it’s jump-cutting to realcore

i’m at a Russian birthday party

spread out on a rec table

i’m speaking to you in a foreign language

i’m easy to ignore