Hey y’all,
Wow. WOW. We did it America. We have endorsed two candidates at once. We have decided to have two presidents. We did it! We are practically halfway to becoming Switzerland. One day I will endorse you, and you will endorse me and jointly—as friends, lovers, degenerates—we shall govern together. Who cares how profoundly sexist it is to say, “Welp, these lady candidates actually have little in common, and represent two different relations to The System, but hell, it’s time for Ladies To Be Governing, and all ladies are practically alike, so each of ya get half a presidency!”???
But, like I’ve said before, my thoughts on these candidates haven’t quite become art yet. So we’ll save it.
You know which candidate has inspired me to write a poem? Pete Buttigieg. That hurt me to type as much as it hurt you to read, but I think you’ll realize this isn’t a love poem. Well, it’s a love poem to a certain word.
For good measure, I also threw in a poem about faggy feelings that doesn’t involve an absolute joyless cipher of a human being.
You’ll find both poems and a couple quick assemblages below the line.
[Hey: If the word “faggot” or physique mag pinups bother you, maybe tune in next time!]
I’ll have another short one this week, and I’m continuing to slug through a longer idea. One is about my dad and the other is about student loans. Amy Klobuchar is a legal fiction.
Thanks for reading,
KJ
he’s running
when i said i wanted a faggot for president,
i didn’t quite mean this. but now, in the light,
i realize this is unfair for two reasons: first,
i’m not quite sure i’d call you a faggot. i think
about this a lot, and i think about how you cum,
about your asshole, about whether anybody
has tried to go after you with a bottle or knife
for making a pass, about whether the word
’discrete’ makes you laugh, too, as if you
could pull a stunt like that—as if there’s even
a stunt to pull. second, i don’t know if a faggot
could or should be president. who wants to be
the first faggot war criminal? the trailblazing
faggot génocidaire? the pioneer drone strike
late capital techno-imperialist faggot? i went
to state schools. the word ‘faggot’ used to
make me feel like a lizard dreading the boot
until, irradiated, i became a giant godzilla faggot
wandering the coast, ensuring nobody ever
quite sleeps. i have learned to run one way
and you another but they’ll call us both faggots.
you can likely guess
i have so many words
in my head just for you
that i may never say.
you know what they are—
they sit right on my tongue,
ready to jump out.
words do so much harm,
make “before [ ]” and “after [ ],”
can force a cruel choice.
i’m between your thighs:
let’s forget about words,
find some good new sounds.