the internet is where I go when I feel like dying
white lotus hatching on water modern pain isn’t
felt at all it’s better to dream high I hope this
soda is a kind of light sappy brains are everywhere
pussycats in a dungeon drinking pills on the bridge
dazzling and impulsive with loss horse by the cliff
breathing is sad Gatorade doesn’t do what it’s
supposed to smoke and a black light poster a little
painting of a boat everyone I ever loved
Darling
dog with a third eye whatever’s sad loves you can’t be
wrong about god darkness puts clothes on there’s a pill
under the stove people tattoo each other with moans
how do we get out of the future browning artichoke hearts
I’d rather be famous than young goth music mists out of
a car I wish there was more to life than what transpires
on my face flamingos toppled on the lawn my body
pulses everything I miss happens to me all the time
Your Heart Belongs To Me
babies are boring you can’t love without a hole youth
as a chain wallet purple stuffed animals hanging from the
barbed wire fence we suffer the mountain ahead bugs shit
on my hat it’s better to want than it is to ascertain blood
feeds the brain people muddy with lust how many arms
does the world have I eat a tomato nobody else is eating
there are no choices just strangers returning to a room you
mistake for time winter’s over light thrums its birth pain
Texas bluebonnets on a t-shirt I immigrate a little on the
inside
The Joyful Things We Used To Do
on the internet I miss everyone how’d they get there taxidermy
bird in it for the long haul champagne is some of the saddest
shit in the world videos of weepy teenagers loss is our life’s
work a hole achieved in the asphalt by the deserted dog leash
people start out alone and then put that torch in each other
the satanic bible hello kitty purse everything demands a world
you turn your back to the mountain and one day the past is
far enough to kill you
Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You
it’s real love if it doesn’t come back a night of burnt
moths happiness isn’t what it used to be we put the
apple on our head and still get shot in the face I’m
always just a little bit pity when I see an animal I want
to touch it volumes of white singing from the barren
swimming pool how to recover from life with life trash
gilded in sunshine cultivating is the light of pain the
searing humanity I feel looking at a deflated blowup
doll whatever happened to people trick question we’re
all dead
Jon-Michael Frank is the author of two chapbooks: Diana Ross & The Supremes (Birds, LLC & Black Cake Records) and Here It Is My Beautiful Fucking Heart (El Aleph Press). He is the acquisitions editor for the small press BIRDS, LLC and runs a reading series called Fun Party. More at www.jonmichaelfrank.com.