poem: portrait of a lady, january 2019

pine tree hands make

ginger kisses. they are better than

the crowd of girls: nice, but all emotional.

the boys carry rocks on their heads and in their

eyes; the girl tuck the rocks into

athletic bags and into breasts. she is with the boys,

competing, the rocks split open to

Intelligence and Intellect, and good theory conversations

over coffee, and late nights, and post-colonial theory in film,

economic ruin in new age socialism, the interior flaws

of java (or was it javascript?); the labor camps in

China. what is freedom? choice.

lol lets build internment camps 4 those liberal idiots fml

read 4:35 a.m.

(She didn’t respond, she is being good). But she is still

lusting for

the intellect, the matching worldview, her religion taken

seriously and not just a sick joke for the marxists

and the intersectional queens.

im sorry im a white male theres so much ill never know

read 8: 15 a.m.

(She didn’t respond, that isn’t manhood to her).

Still. Probably best to not throw the rocks at people,

to get used to men being smarter than you.

intellect is dominance: it’s sexy

(but also im srsly irritated lol)

(not read, only she thinks that)

you want to compete but it’s their masculinity; you can’t

join the dark new throng and destroy that. pine trees

have splits in their souls

she looks into the bare branches and sees herself:

gothic, mathematical, irrational.


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