gimme love: for my class of 2020

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after andrew kim / after joji / and in style, kind of after franny choi’s turing test series

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// what’s your name

the manic pixie dream sidekick is every orbit of a cliché.

in the cross section of moonbeam + palm is a mourned

punked tire instead of love, hence the self-failed kick of a miracle looping

itself in spider rope. look: once materialized i am fleetingly pellucid

                + baringly gone. gimme gimme love gimme gimme  

rocking chair soul + ropeburn of choice. to stay, to enter—

i’ve chewed my thumb raw into licorice waiting for crystallization

 

// and how long have you been here

gone; now; miracles bestowed upon calculators chafe for

desublimination. friction is what is lost. when i’m gone have i

                been here? i’ve lived for myself and bitten cheek watching

grace, leap, descent, fall, hurl, sinkage, arms stretching from

cliché’s pits. we’ve dropped too many stars to orbit. + yet,

 

// and how have you liked it?

                imagine

i am not only merely like a spaceship but am one scorching + we

                are so close to gratitude. exit velocity at our

irreplaceable us, chalk dust dewing in our lungs + gravity universal

                , watch miracle blink into another cliché. finally

i cough heat when we plummet, you say: isn’t it a miracle we’ve

                been brought together isn’t it a miracle we’ve

tolerated each other isn’t it a miracle we’ve managed to resemble

                love isn’t it a miracle how when you say it out loud

you sound like every other other. like we haven’t given up together—

 

how have i liked it?

umm

uhh

                uhh

like letting go would burn the fall.

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