I
i dedicate this poem
to the first 15 years
of the twenty first century.
it's name is "citrus".
i call it that
because I can't remember
its real name,
or anything else about it,
really.
dry heave into buckets
fall asleep during "con air"
drag disposable blades across skin
drug stash falling apart
feel "it" collapse inside you
we are simply unreal
like car crashes
and unbuckled seatbelts
ugly ugly ugly ugly
is everyone you know.
that's it. "citrus".
or, as much of it
as i can remember.
zachary cosby,
you are a terrible liar
and you know that is not true.
okay.
it really went:
"citrus”
maybe we can retire my lips
as a gesture of goodwill towards those
i have previously wronged.
they will live out their final days
in warm dreams or memories
of slow motion melting against others.
the ghosts they birthed
will live on as radiation burns
on the skin of children.
the earth is a disgusting thing.
i hope we never come back.
II
this is a forest fire of
paper cigarette ebooks dog
feces coffee street litter cables
reducing my head
to charred neurons stumps
and ash habitats.
once, we found romance
in the glow of your cellycell's
fleshlight app.
all hard drives crashing
and jpegs corrupting
into a cloudy static poem
that read:
CANCEROUS SUBJECTIVITY
blue screens of death
flash inside your eyes
digital flowers bloom
black between our thighs
III
organisms fight for resource.
wet breath hold me underwater.
cellular sing sing hymnal drone.
(another goddamn poem, this time untitled
ha ha, ha ha, ha ha, ha ha
ha ha, ha ha, ha ha, ha.....)
reptile foam in every mouth.
claw against glass.
bodies shed large segments.
it’s all caught on webcam.
i’m livestreaming for only you.
IV
even those things
that i want
i don't really want.
i think
I'm trying to say
that i want
to stop wanting.
avoid
like a void
trying to swallow
another void.
V
he whispers:
i want to leave you with a virus
that doesn't scrape off
he does
it won't
