Adrian Blevins

Issue #
September 28, 2015

Nine to Five

When I said my heart was silky,

I meant it was silly. I mean, I meant

it likes to get its hair done whenever

possible. Oh my darling, my heart

is at heart a southern person & even

a little bit of a vixen—a long schlep

for you I know up to the house, but

real swig once you get here & the best

of whatever other foxtrot such that

when the lousy cosmos throws all this

nine-to-five big-fat rigmarole at us—

O rumpus & ruckus & uproar!, O brawl

& ruckus & fuss!—I just want

to rip my heart’s hair out. & shave down

to nothing to be nothing but thump

& pulse. & become nothing but eyes

appearing to float in the murk behind the trees

like say a wolf or some other wild thing

among the vines & branches. Yes

& just pacing & doing nothing but pacing

like speeding on amphetamines

back when we were kids when the hope was

to get as fucked up as possible—getting blind

we sometimes called that: getting blind

& going blind & being smashed.

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