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January 3, 2014 Poetry

2 Poems

Jon Conley

2 Poems photo

Ur Tits


you come in tell me of your night like the boys all stared at ur tits I tell you I hate your job not you you

think I hate you okay I say but if I had a book it would be called marriage and the uncontrollable

narcissist and then I tell you I quit smoking pot good you say you are better when not when not the pot

you say I finish a sentence I quit smoking pot unless it is the first thing I do on a Friday morning now

where are those tits





we fucked up our fingers

on the beach with footballs

in each other with malice

now we set in fake splints

as we sat in the sun, as we pink and we set

what we can, what we know

alls we need now

is some fucking Tylenol


image: Caleb Curtiss