Jacklyn Janeksela
your bones are toothpicks, bro

these days splintered bones require band-aids

headaches &/or heartaches of the early 21st century

ain’t got nothing on millennial’s pain

another dead body almost dances to the morgue

content to not be of this world

glad as a ghost can be

to depart while family

eats dinner or sleeps or watches another

stupid fucking news channel

gone between the arms of a mother’s hug

get thee gone, Satan all the white

Christian boys laugh into billfolds

death candy galore

glorify your babies & give ‘em a piece

it’s what they sell at the drugstore, the corner store

it’s what they feeding babies at school lunches, believe it’s real

someone said nope, not my baby

but they took him anyways& he was all growed up

rather than this book or that brain or that book or this body

beefy attitudes [think pork sausage]

of a big-headed beast [think pork chops or head cheese]

parade streets like hammers like hammers like hammers

like too many fucking guns like blue, like blue, like glue

the body moves behind a brute, brute breast of a chest-plate

that protects a phantom heart

there’s a politician who looks like crying

but it’s an onion, it’s a goddamn onion patch

& cue the applause card because the host has to piss

no more questions, everyone get unsafely home & shit

the horizon so out there, so far out there

it demands telescopes or at the very least

a decent pair of binoculars

the horizon a peel-away mirage sticker, a scratch ´n sniff gun