Photo by Scott Rodgerson on Unsplash
A secret place.
A sluice
or something.
We still have
our seatbelts on,
I can’t believe
this is happening.
Those eyes, those eyes. We get drunk
and conform to views
of how a pep rally
should be. It should be
cherished, like a skeleton.
Missing person with a group
of fringe kids
is the sound
of an angelic voice
in brackets.
Chaos is always under
the influence
of exactly what
I’m looking for.
Stop looking
at my autopsy
reports and
put the body *Sirens*
where you want it. *Sirens*
Wait—do you want
this? *Sirens*
*Sirens * Sirens*
Nobody can hear
Eugene Ionesco. He
was abducted,
while walking home
from school. He wrote letters
and said, it’s nice but I dream
of baby monsters. I need to work
on my opinions. Learn your lesson.
Learn your lesson.
Please learn your lesson.
You don’t need friends
to have a conversation,
you’ve got enemies,
and the DMV.
Note: this poem is composed of mostly found language in the subtitles of two different episodes of Criminal Minds. One episode is mentioned in the title, the other I can’t remember.
frankie bb is a map of eyes that have yet to assemble into a crowd, a jaw bone that dislikes being called "mandible" and prefers "crescent catcher." A guilty harvester who believes milk is best served wild. Words in and forthcoming: No Contact Mag, The Lickety-Split, Club Plum Literary Journal, Maudlin House, The Landfill, X-R-A-Y Lit, bedfellows magazine, and B l u s h Lit