Matt Hart

I want you to see yourself

In the glow

Of my face

Which is radioactive

So problematic

For the olive trees

And the Kubla Cons

And the ex-marines

Who hang around

The post office


If you don’t know

What skulling is

It’s not sulking

So cross that possibility off

Your list

It’s something weirder than that

The color of eggplant

The fog of teleology

To be sure

I don’t ever know why

Anybody’s the way they are

It has something to do

With their parents

And also all the drugs

I take two Ibuprofen

And a swig of my wife’s beer

My blood has a parachute inside it

The color of Jesus’ wooden cross

Which still fails to convince me

After all these years

I don’t change my ways

And one of the marines

Says my hair looks cool

But what he doesn’t know

Is that under my hair

My skull contains

A bloodbath

Of chemicals

You’re soaking in them right now

And I’m soaking in yours

And when we unstop

Our drains

All the love pours out

And the street begins to purr

The marines fall back

We only ever see

What we’re looking to see

I see myself

As the small part

Of a penny

I hope that’s enough

To make you look

And keep looking


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