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Twenny Tinny Nine, a Year of Our Lord

By Sam Pekarske From Issue No. 6

I wrote you a pop album: it’s all about

falling out of love with all of what you are,

and I called this long-playing love record

something esoteric about falling out of love

with concrete, like it’s all the same thing.

I don’t know, you both speak similarly enough

that I start to look at the other one’s mouth

(it stands still and hangs in the dead air),

expecting it to tell me something hypocritical

about falling out of love with gravel instead.

I wrote you twenty five pop songs to tell you

that I got engaged five years from tomorrow,

that I found god and sewed up my clit for good,

that my mom and dad and everybody else died,

that it’s okay that you fell out of love first,

even though that’s not what I tell anybody ever,

that escapism is the sincerest form of fuckery,

and that I respect the tomb for its weight in rock.

About Sam Pekarske More From Issue No. 6