Last week I
dropped a can of Shaq Soda
on the ground, and it burst like
the American Dream. The corn syrup
smelled like a sweaty baseball cap,
it felt like
the fourth of July
When I walk into your house I smell
Vaseline and Swanson TV dinners
You tell me you’re a libertarian
so I piss on your sheets
and dare you to call the police
In the morning,
you tell me I should try and be
saved, but we all know that was Bob Dylan’s
And besides, I don’t want to
be forgiven, and I know
everything I’ve done wrong.
Lucky Number 9
CDs are made of plastic and
binary code and reflective
material. Stupid when we
could just sing to each other forever
I feel like I’m getting sick
but I know I’m not getting sick
Am I getting sick?
“Outlook not so good”
2 months ago I
watched you sing karaoke
in a beige shirt, top three buttons
undone, hair curling off your chest.
I smiled at you
Do you remember my
high school grad party
no one showed up to?
I cried into a box of pizza,
you took your pants off behind
Red lace in the grass, polka dots
in the cream clouds.
Nick Wort likes bikes, cats and plants. He lives in South Bend Indiana. Follow him on Twitter: @dollartreevegan