Dave Brennan

I was going to give up.

I’d written a monologue
shaped by weed.

It was so full of hope and wonder
no one knew what the fuck was happening.
The chaos

a tonal thing,
reliant on an alien
reality, a promise
so elaborate it was

funny.
Future civilizations
condensed into one person. No
single narrative, just
an apocalypse

of saliva. The piece ends with
the speaker
who is the reader
who is the word
on the page
counting off
on three villainous fingers:
animal, animal, animal.

Scorn is contagious
Taking a selfie is hard
The brown spots on your face
The red spots on your face
The dead on your face
A bowl of old fruit
Voting is easy
Taking a selfie is impossible
Caramelize your stink
Cast iron cracking spit
The digital on your face
Art is making nothing
Of the question itself
Whether your ex has a new girlfriend
Whether your ex has a new whatever
Blackout
Sex slouched trees snapped the power lines
Slouched spines whip-snapped upright
Posture is power
Microplastictransaction
Skin the discordant glamour
Voting is easy
Performed for the living
Sunglasses hide the terror

David Brennan is the author of the forthcoming A Cyborg's Father: Misreading Donna Haraway (punctum books), Disintegration F_ace (Schism Press) and A Dash as Long as the Earth's Orbit (Bateau Press), winner of the BOOM chapbook contest. His poems have appeared in Conduit, FENCE Steaming, Bathhouse Journal, ANMLY and elsewhere. He lives in Virginia and teaches at James Madison University. Find him online at fckyrbookclub.substack.com.