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Sarah Jean Grimm is the author of Soft Focus (Metatron, 2017). She is also a founding editor of the online quarterly, Powder Keg Magazine. She lives in Brooklyn.

2 poems by Sarah Jean Grimm


If it were summer, we’d be cruising the internet
For an affordable car to take to the beach
Where we’d unfold lawn chairs and bite into limes
Or else I’d fish a coin out of a mall fountain
And deposit it in a glacial lake
I think wishes should come
From the cool blue middles of things
I’m worn with longing
The object of affection is always absent
Or whatever it was Kant said in that other time
There’s a different heat to the planet now
Radiation grains us into truer people
We can’t sustain a super flared enthusiasm
And I support a gradual dissolve into an unfazed aesthetic
A studied monotony voiced from the edges
I wish to extract myself from the messes of other people
There are many kinds of wars going on
All at once and in terrible concert
Outrage burns itself out and reignites
A closed loop of fuzzy logic
Called the web
Note the magic absent from my morning’s Craigslist ad:
Seeking Master of Tarot to Write Deck
The mechanical advice in my afternoon clickbait:
Practice on Light Switch to Improve Cunnilingus
Which recalls for me that Plath line:
Darling, all night I have been flickering off, on, off, on
I don’t know if she was imagining then
What I’m imagining now
But granting any kind of wish is a blue ribbon endeavor
And you should understand
In knowing what I want
I already have what I want 




The only growth industry is suffering
Locate a life hack for the problems of culture
And you will become rich enough
To live outside the culture
With a desert island playlist
And a lifetime supply of items you desire
Enough to keep you occupied
Survival Guide: Compatibility Quiz: Aptitude Test:
What you should do for a living is try to live
Yet make it look effortless and urgent
Use words like now, hurry, and instant
This offer is good as long as supplies last
Yes, but is there something else I can do
To summon a lean season
Scarce are my urges to be contained
I’ve been reciting my lines
I’ve been minding the rules
Navigating intellectual property
In a public domain
One week into my new job
On the phone I was told I sounded twelve
Esophageal uptalk I struggle to suppress
It’s a symptom of the American dream
It’s the dream of a self-made supermodel
I’ve been searching for something I can contain
Yes, I wish to understand
Yes, I wish to continue
I wish to be less a product of internet culture
See: the stooped neck of the iPhone era
The poor posture of the navel gazer
Dread of missing out brings me up at night
Dread of pretending, dread of sincerity
Dread of being heard, dread of the banshee
Just how stupid do you think I am
Or what can I even ask
The call is coming from inside the house
Still, dread of being locked outdoors 

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