by Joshua McDermott

even the trees are plugged in
wired so hot right through their
crotches it sets my hands on fire
and all the flowers heads
are popping off with yellow
orgasms sprouting out
confetti lines that tie my brain stem to
the man and the man to my
genitals – bee cause nothings
too far or lost
but nothings real either
and i can put my head
inside purple lakes forever
and find pieces of it floating
hideous, white, and logical.
So I want to put it in a pile
to burn it
like an ant colony in a jar
and watch the larvae pop like tapioca.

All the knowledge it ripped
into me
was just a green medical terminology
book with anatomical images that came out
wrong. . . and I believed them.
I read them and painted them
and thought it was life
but it only ever disconnected
the roots of my hairs from my
and the valves of my
kidney lines from my
lymphomatic system.
The logic was
a pile of steaming
deer shit.

. . .and all i really wanted was to be loved.

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